


Tabula Rasa

by Swiftmint



Category: Bourne Trilogy (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-22
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swiftmint/pseuds/Swiftmint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>XMFC/Bourne Identity AU. For those not aware: A man is rescued off the coast of France by a fishing ship, injured and completely without any memory of who he is, he sets out using the few clues he has to fill in the blanks. Left with few resources and options, he is forced to rely on the help of one Charles Xavier which works out just fine until the assassins start showing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sudden Sympathy For John Locke

I.

Tabula rasa. The clean slate. The hypothesis that people are unknown quantities. Profoundly undefined. Starting with nothing more to their name than an empty mind and the task of finding things with which to fill it. That specific purpose in life is completely unavoidable, of course, common to all man. Where you can find a choice and what differintiates one person from the other depends on what you fill your clean slate with. Baseball statistics, memories of family vacations, equations, pot roast recipes, or deep philosophical (and likely truly pretentious) observations... that was your free will.

...and that was Tabula Rasa.

As a geneticist, Charles was required to find this theory somewhat unlikely. To disregard nature so soundly in favor of nurture was utter lunacy to someone who owned two first edition copies of On the Origin of Species. That wasn't his only reasoning of course. The idea of a complete clean slate at birth seemed far too simplistic and banged harshly of someone who was searching for an elegant solution so hard that they broke the mold to make their theory fit. Minds were complex, you could stare into a mind for a hundred years and still find you're only seeing the surface, children's minds sometime more so.

At least that had been Charles's experience until this very moment.

All it took was an innocent brush of skin on skin in a crowd, and he suddenly found himself with more sympathy for John Locke. The mind he'd just glimpsed wasn't tabula rasa, but it was close. He spun, searching for the owner of the mind and finding only the anonymous backs of dozens of rushing travelers.

"Charles, are you alright?"

Charles snapped his line of sight back to his sister, not having realized it had wandered in the first pace. He recovered as best he could, though that only amounted to a fumbled smile and a straightening of his shoulders, "I'm sorry, what?"

Raven's gaze was sharp and knowing, her lips pursing in that way they did when she wanted very badly to say something. As usual, Raven not being the type to hold back her opinions, she voiced them soon after.

"Was that..?"

"A minor slip, nothing more." He cut the question off with an assuring gesture, "Someone brushed my arm on accident, it's bound to happen on a crowded platform."

She didn't look at all convinced, but a man knocking his suitcase into the back of her knees redirected most of her anger. She gracefully lifted her middle finger at the man's back for a good two seconds before Charles clapped his hands over hers and hid the gesture between them. The crowd milled around them, too concerned about getting to their own trains to care much about Raven's displays.

"And you worry about _me._ " Charles said in loving exasperation, pointedly not letting go of her fingers in case she decided to bite her thumb at a passing authority figure.

"Me giving that asshole the bird and you accidentally melting someone's brain are on two entirely different tiers of bad." Raven informed him shortly.

Charles sighed, "I didn't _melt_ his brain, I just caught a glimpse of it."

"And?" She prodded.

Charles framed a look at her that clearly said, 'and what.'

"Don't give me that," Raven shot back, "You looked like he walked up and licked your ear. Something is weird, and it's going to bother you, so just tell me and you'll get over it quicker."

It was times like these Charles highly suspected his sister was an evil genius. He wouldn't be far off. He checked his watch just in case time had slipped by faster and given him a viable excuse to drop the conversation. He didn't want to talk about his, he truly didn't. He didn't want to tell her about this man, this mind. Didn't want to tell her it intrigued him, that it had pulled him in, that it had taken nearly all of his self control not to reach out to it even though he wasn't sure he even knew _how_ to reach anymore. He couldn't tell her he was that sorely tempted, that he was that close to breaking a decades long promise he'd made to himself.

Apparently he'd run out of time to answer, if the now newly concerned look on her face had any meaning. She shifted her hand in his grip  until their fingers were laced up in a knot between them.

"...I can stay if you need me to." She whispered only loud enough to make it over the noise of the crowd.

Charles shook his head sternly, trying to remind her that _he_ was the older brother, he did the worrying. "Do you really want to stay while I go and meet with... what did you call them, 'Musty old fogies'? You couldn't even stay awake through my thesis."

"Come on, they're eighty, how are they _not_ fogies? Though I am glad you're playing with children your own age now." She finished archly.

His admonishment was halfhearted at best, too caught up in knowing exactly how much he was going to miss her. God, was he going to miss her. He hoped the small squeeze of her hand was enough to accurately communicate that, as the train chose that moment to start boarding. Raven ducked in to peck him on the cheek before reaching to hitch her own bag back over her shoulder.

"Go paint Geneva red," She grinned, "and call me tomorrow afternoon."

"I promise," He smiled back indulgently, "Enjoy New York, just don't burn the mansion down while I'm gone."

Raven simply gave him a shrug and tapped the side of her nose, backing away to go catch her own train back home. He watched her leave, limbs feeling unnaturally heavy. It was just a week and a half away from her, he should _not_ be this co-dependent, it was unseemly.

Filled with a new conviction, Charles scooped his own suitcase off the floor, presented his ticket to the man at the train's door, and proceeded in. No sooner did he forcefully put Raven out of his mind than did that other... clean slate of a mind fill up the space she'd vacated. What was even more worrying than that was the fact that it very much didn't bother him.

II.

He was sitting in the last table in the dining car at a lonely two top next to the window. He had ordered the first least expensive thing on the menu and it had arrived ten minutes after. He hadn't touched it. Instead he was staring out the window at the people boarding the train just as they had the last two stops since the train had left.

He didn't know much for sure, but he knew some facts for sure. If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, it was more alarming than consoling. They were arguably innocent things, yes, especially to an outside onlooker. Unfortunately, as much as he felt like an outsider in his own body, he could also see the purpose behind all those supposedly arbitrary decisions.

The seat he had chosen because it was on the far side of the car, away from the kitchen so he'd receive less attention and also could keep his back to the wall. He knew every person in the car at that time, knew every exit, had the train's route mapped carefully in his head, all without really trying. The only reason he'd ordered at all was to buy himself some quiet, some time to think, but now that he had the time, he didn't know what to do with it. What exactly is a man who has no idea who they are supposed to think about? Peace and quiet just highlighted the gaping holes of information he didn't have about himself. Instead, he decided to fill in information about others, turning to watch the boarding passengers.

They were far less complicated, their stories told clearly by the amount of luggage, the set of their shoulders, their accents. This was the third stop of six before their train reached Switzerland and the people on the platform were notedly more casual as they stepped on. Their clothes spoke of their humble occupations, constrasting the sharp gray and black business suits of the last two stops.

He focused on a family of three standing off slightly to the side, a small child entertaining himself by vaulting over their well worn luggage while his parents just tried their best to keep his energy corralled into their immediate area.

He found himself smiling at it, fidgetting with the unused butter knife on the table to keep his hands occupied.

The father had recently came into some reasonable amount of money, he deduced, noting the mismatched wear on the various articles of clothing. He'd originally come from some type of manual labor though, his shoes might have been black at some point but were now a mottled, worn brown from dirt and grease.

The fidgeting had turned into some curiously dextrous flip of the knife over and between each knuckle of his hand. He frowned at it before resolutely setting the knife down.

He turned back to the window, liking the idea more of making judgments about the people outside by what he observed rather than using the same skill on himself. The family boarded the train, leaving only a few stragglers behind. That was when he noticed them.

Five or six uniformed men rounded the corner of the terminal and strode towards his train with obvious intent.

He was out of his chair before the observation had completely solidified, and this time he didn't stop the instinct. He knew next to nothing these days, he didn't know his name, didn't know where he was from, didn't even know what his native language was ... but he knew, somehow, that those people were here for him and he could _not_ allow them to succeed.

He swept his hand across the white tablecloth, palming the fairly harmless seeming butter knife and quickly made his way to the door. He didn't have much headway or many options, as the train started moving as soon as the men boarded, accelerating quickly. Worse yet the men had fanned out and entered on either side of him effectively pinning him in the dinning car. He had a distant respect for their efficiency, he'd only just made it to the door when two men entered from the opposite end of the car.

"You!" One of them managed to say that much before his query abruptly darted out the door.

The nameless man tore through the next car, a simple one for passengers, brushing past the family he'd noticed earlier before he hit the next door. He could see the other two officers the next car down, heading directly his way. He ignored them and stepped through the door to the space in between cars, eyeing the ladder and the small hatch above it.

He was up the ladder without hesitation. He didn't have a key for the hatch but it didn't really matter, evidently the lock seemed brittle and it only took a good push to get it to give way.

It didn't take longer than the second it took to pull himself up and out for it to become painfully obvious why they'd felt the need to lock it in the first place. A day that had previously felt fairly warm for the winter months now felt bitingly cold at the speed the wind whipped by. Half formed snowflakes cut through the air and condensed on the metal hull of the train, making the whole surface an ice slick going 130 kph through the French countryside. This was not a place a sane human being should ever be.

Yet here he was. That seemed fitting, at least.

The hatch behind him gave a telltale creak of someone attempting to open it up, making him turn in his hunched position. He let them, giving them the illusion of progress only to snap a sharp kick to the first face that popped up. The man fell back with a satisfying crash, landing on someone else, from the sound of it. The nameless man slammed the hatch behind him and kicked it all the way closed, denting the latch. It wouldn't hold forever, but it'd buy him time.

He pushed himself up to his knees and then finally to his feet, leaning into the wind and willing his feet to glue to the roof underneath them. Then he was off. He made it three cars down before he noticed the hatch give way behind him, more feeling the movement than hearing it, the rushing winds carrying the sound far away before he got the chance.

He couldn't stay up there any longer. He grabbed at the next hatch he could find, this one lacking a lock entirely, and dropped down into a blessedly empty employee car. He didn't stop moving, the voices coming closer were far from friendly and far too close. As soon as he stepped into the next car he gambled and pulled open one of the compartment doors, hoping it was empty but knowing he had no choice either way.

It wasn't empty... and instinct took over from there.

He was standing over the other man in a flash, pressing him back down into the seat as he tried to get up and clamping his other hand over the man's mouth. The other man froze at the contact, his hands curling claws into the seat's cushion. The nameless man let him, instead shifting to turn an ear toward the door, listening to the approaching voices.

"-care about some search or another, I can't just let you bother all our passengers." A woman spoke sharply in French.

"I'm here at the request of Interpol, you do understand what that means, right?" A second voice responded, equally French and equally annoyed.

The woman, evidently an employee, told him where he could shove his badge as the two of them walked right past their compartment. Time slowed impossibly, the world focusing to that moment, to the details. The sound of the pair's footfalls, the sting of his own frostbitten skin, the feel of the other man's breath brushing against the blade of his hand...

He turned to truly look at the man for the first time. He was smaller, dark haired, pale skinned with the ghost of freckles that would likely only be visible from as close as he was. That man's eyes caught his attention the most, not because of any physical characteristic, though they were quite remarkable. It was what he found in them. He wasn't scared. Not in the least. If anything he looked a little curious.

He didn't need his instinct for this one. He knew right off... the smaller man was going to be nothing but trouble.

"I won't harm you." The nameless man said in french, the words seeming almost more directed to himself than the still man in front of him. Those blue eyes watched him calmly even though he could feel the man's racing heartbeat under his fingers.

Slowly, he pulled his hand back, keeping it close in between them as an implicit threat. The smaller man's calm remained, the only outward reaction to the situation being the hands still clawed into the cushion beneath him. The silence dragged, both of them doing nothing but staring intently at one another, testing the boundaries of the odd encounter.

"Thank you." The smaller man said finally, in english, a distinctly high class sort of English accent. He said only those two words before pausing, seeing if talking was even allowed.

The nameless man's instinct told him to order the man to silence, but he'd let his instincts take too much of a reign thus far. He stubbornly ignored them.

He gave a cautious nod at the thanks, not even sure what he was being thanked for, "What's your name?" He switched to english, keeping his voice low. If he was going to hold a man hostage, he might as well know that.

The smaller man looked almost amused at the question but he tamped it down quickly. "Charles Xavier," He tilted his chin up with a bit of bravado, "Nice to meet you."

He was right, this Xavier man was absolutely insane. If the opinion showed on his face, it didn't seem to bother Charles.

"And you are?" Charles asked politely before suddenly flinching, dashing a look at the hand still firmly pinning him to the bench seat. It had clenched reflexively at the question, driving his thumb into the meat of the Charles's shoulder.

The man released his grip quickly, suddenly aware of exactly how close he was to the other man. One knee was propped up on the seat next to Charles, penning him in, forcing Charles to look up as he loomed over him. There was no doubt in his mind that he probably looked ready to strangle the smaller man and he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't. He'd already broken the one promise he'd made not to harm him.

He didn't apologize, he couldn't, but the cold feeling of guilt gnawed away quietly beneath his ribs as it had every time he'd failed to be a normal human being. The best he could do was give a completely humorless breath of a laugh.

"That's the question, isn't it?" He said cryptically.

A sharp knock on the compartment's doors made both of them jump and turn.

"Mister Xavier?" The woman from before hovered outside the door, her silhouette foggy in the slip of frosted glass as well as another person just to her left.

Charles looked up at his captor with raised eyebrows, question obvious. He nodded in consent, gracefully slipping away to give Charles the room to stand before tucking himself into the corner nearest to the door. Close enough to not be seen but also close enough to react if Charles suddenly lost his sense of cooperation.

The woman knocked again, more impatient, prompting Charles to recover his numb limbs and stagger to the door.

"Yes?" Charles opened the door halfway and managed a pleasant, if slightly muddled sounding answer that he hoped would be passed off for sleepiness instead of anything more dire.

"Mr. Xavier," The woman smiled hesitantly, "You'll excuse the intrusion, but at the request of Interpol we need to ask you if you have seen anything out of the ordinary on this trip?"

Charles put his best innocent look on his face, which wasn't really hard. The nameless man gathered that Charles could probably be standing over a corpse with a bloody knife and still be completely acquitted.

"No, I'm sorry," He sounded genuinely so, looking over at the other man behind her. He was dark suited and severe looking with no badge or mark of his station other than the clipboard in his hand. "Should I be worried?"

The man behind her conjured up a smile, the expression looking grossly foreign on his face. "No problem, we are being cautious," He returned gruffly, none too subtly trying to look around Charles to the compartment beyond.

"Good!" Charles smiled and shifted his weight to his other leg, effectively blocking the man's view. He extended his hand out to the man, "I think we can trust our security in your hands."

The Interpol representative looked at Charles's extended hand with all the social graces of a soggy cardboard box before finally giving it a solid shake. He attempted to make it a short one as well but when the officer tried to pull his hand away Charles didn't let go. He gave no explanation or reaction, just held, and stared... right up to the point where the attendant was giving him curious looks, then his fingers loosened and he let the hand drop. He smoothed the whole thing over with a smile, thanked the woman, and closed the door.

The man with no name had him pinned back to the wall as soon as Charles managed to get turned around.

"What was that?" He demanded, harshly flattening his forearm against Charles's collarbone and knocking a gasp from the smaller man.

"I," Charles said without any real purpose, just something to say to buy him time to reorganize his thoughts, "I wasn't trying to signal him."

The man scoffed, "You expect me to believe you?"

Amazingly, Charles looked a little insulted, "No, but you could grant me some courtesy. I was getting information for you."

"By staring at him..."

" _Yes._ " Charles sighed in exasperation but found no belief in the other man's eyes, "He isn't Interpol. Isn't even working with Interpol or the police. No authority, whatsoever."

The man loosened his grip only slightly. He'd figured that much out before Charles had said anything. Something about the way the man carried himself, the lack of identification, the the hitch in his jacket around his shoulder holster, it all rang untrue.

"...and they have no intention of arresting you." Charles said in a dire tone, suddenly bleeding sympathy.

He knew what that meant. No intention of arresting him, but also no intention of letting him off the train either. Lacking a watch of his own he reached out and pulled Charles's arm up to read his. Fifteen minutes between then and the next stop. These fakes would want this finished before then. That gave him fifteen minutes to make sure they didn't have the chance.


	2. Paved With Good Intentions

III.

Raven had accused him, on more than one occasion, of not thinking before he acted. He couldn't blame her, given his track record.

It was fairly routine for him to start debates of a slightly incendiary nature between the faculty at Oxford. A lot of the times it worked out just fine, sometimes (usually with the added bonus of some kind of amber liquid) it very much didn't. He'd sparked a three year long feud between engineering and biology branches in just such a manner, much to his embarrassment. He felt legitimately bad for that and had made a dedicated effort to cull his urge to give impromptu lectures to drunken faculty members that might or might not seem like an insult to their mother.

That incident aside, the problem wasn't lack of forethought, not at all. He tended to think about things _far_ too much. The problem more lied in the fact that when he came to a solution, that truth at the end of a problem, he very much wanted to tell people about it... and a lot of the time, the truth was a dangerous thing to know.

Now seemed like the best example he'd had in a long while. Here he was, standing in the same compartment as a man who had essentially taken him hostage. He owed this man no favors, if any the man owed _Charles_ one or two by now. Yet here he was, aiding and abetting, even if the other man didn't realize it yet. Charles had every intention of helping this man, and he had a very good reason too. The trouble was, if he just up and told the man, "I took a quick peek inside your brain to make sure you weren't a loose psychopath and now probably know as much about you as you do." he'd sound very, _very_ crazy. Or worse. So instead, Charles opted on the side of looking like a brainlessly helpful fool as it seemed marginally more flattering.

Charles watched him from his spot next to the window, grounding himself with the ice cold of the glass against his back. He was prowling back and forth across the compartment, plans made and rejected behind his eyes. Prowling really was the only word for it too. The man was a sleek example of muscle and grace. Every step was deliberately placed, never awkward, never sacrificing balance. That, more than anything else, was what made him intimidating, that told you this is a person who knew how to survive and wasn't afraid to step through other people to do it... and Charles had just told him the ugly truth and given him _targets._

"What are you going to do?" Charles asked with the first show of real hesitation.

The man stopped and looked at him with that same calculating look he'd been giving Charles since moment one. "I'm going to get off before the next station." He said shortly, assuredly.

"They won't let you." Charles frowned.

The man didn't shrug, he was clearly above such a common action, but his lack of response somehow communicated it entirely.

"They will _kill you,"_ Charles emphasized, "do you understand that? Do you even have a weapon?" Never a question he'd asked before...

The man paused, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a plain butter knife, the edge so blunt it was really more like a flat spoon. Charles felt no reservations in looking at him like an idiot... so he did. Loudly.

The expression was ignored, "Stay inside, stay low." He said before moving to pull the door open.

"Wait!" Charles ducked in front of him and slammed his hand on the door, keeping it from opening. The man didn't seem pleased by this. "I can't just let you walk out there and get yourself killed."

It seemed Charles had hit some kind of threshold of annoyance with the man. It was a subtle shift, a simple turn to face Charles straight on, a slight lean in to his space. "This isn't suicide." He spoke in clipped tones forced between sharp teeth, "I have fifteen minutes between here and the next stop where they will likely have more of their friends waiting for me. This train is going too fast to jump from and it won't slow down at any point between here and there. _This_ is my only option, stop them before they stop me, then put on the breaks and leave. That's it."

As threatening as that butter knife suddenly was, Charles didn't allow himself to be cowed, "Then let me clear the way for you. The fewer people you have to 'stop' the higher the likelihood of success, yes?"

Either the logic of the suggestion or the sheer force of Charles's brashness seemed to box the man into a corner, head titling subtly as his mouth pulled down. Charles waited impatiently on the balls of his feet, out of his element.

"Why are you helping me?" The man asked gravely, gray eyes bright with something Charles couldn't define.

"Because I know you won't hurt me. I couldn't say the same for them." Charles answered strongly even though it was a half-truth.

The man remained in silence for far too long and it seemed like he _sharpened._ Every line in his body tensed, jaw clenched, fingers gripping around that laughable knife like he could bend it with will alone. There was a breath and then he took a step closer to the Charles, forcing him to tilt his head up to keep eye contact.

"...and how do you know I won't hurt you?" His voice was so low, so tense, that Charles swore he could feel it in his bones. He stared back up, refusing to even blink.

"I _know."_

...and then the taller man backed off, looking profoundly torn between exasperation, confusion, and something close to amusement. "You trust too easily." He informed Charles frankly.

"So I'll be your distraction then?"

"I doubt I could stop you even if I wanted to."

Charles couldn't help the brilliant smile that jumped to his face, "Well at least now we understand each other."

IV

Charles was gone for only a few minutes but those minutes were absolute torture.

What could have possibly possessed him to let a man he just met, openly threatened, and very likely bruised at the very least (He seemed the type to bruise easily) go and wrangle five men with guns on his behalf? Why had it seemed a good idea, on his word and a pair of honest-seeming eyes, that he should let Charles just run off.

The man paced back and forth in the compartment, keeping far away from the section of glass even as his mind was occupied with visions of the smaller man running up to the first official looking person he could find and regaling them with a tale of how he'd just been temporarily kidnapped by the dumbest man in all existence. How Charles had very neatly made him confess he wasn't armed in any way besides cutlery, gotten him to trust him, and he'd just been allowed to _walk out._

Or worse yet, the fool could have given himself away to these men with guns and twitchy demeanors. He was obviously the honest type, after all, how in the hell could he be a good liar? At this very moment, he could be bleeding out in some lonely corner of the train while the gunmen headed straight this way.

He flipped that omnipresent butter knife over in a graceful silver flash along the back of his knuckles and glared at an offensive patch on the wall. Five seconds, five was all he could give this situation.

Five, four... the click of the door opening made him spin on a heel, arcing the knife around...

"Apologies," Charles said tensely, eyes looking down at the knife hovering a few inches in front of his face, "I probably should have knocked."

"Would have been polite," He returned with smooth sarcasm.

Charles let out a breathy laugh at that and left him no choice but to petulantly drop the knife back to his side.

"So?" He prodded and Charles jumped, remembering that he did have something to say. He looked positively flushed and more than a little keyed up, but he seemed to be taking to it well if the smile on his face was any indication.

"Right, yes," Charles said with a nod, "It's all set. You likely have five or six minutes to work with, though there is still one wandering around, so be careful." He said all this like he hadn't just inexplicably apprehended four armed men.

"...How?" He couldn't keep the abject disbelief from his voice.

"Hm? Oh," Charles shrugged, "I might have lead them to believe there was a shady looking character in the storage compartment a few cars back. Then the door might have accidentally locked behind them. You owe me a pen by the way."

Of all the things he had come across these past few weeks including waking up not knowing who or where he was... Charles Xavier was the most confusing thing so far. The most he could do was stare, eyebrows drawn together, then resolutely turn on a heel and walk past him out the door.

To his credit, Charles politely stepped out of his way and held the door open before he opened his mouth to speak again.

"It was nice to meet you, Erik."

He froze.

"What did you say?" His voice came out gruff and abused, but he couldn't make himself turn around to look. He didn't know exactly what he'd do when he did.

"Is that not your name?" Charles said in confusion just out of his line of sight. The sound of paper came shortly after, forcing him to look back. The smaller man was unfolding a squared piece of paper out into its original form, words printed in heavy enough type that it was visible from the reverse side. "There are some others on here I can try but I thought Erik suited you best. You don't really _look_ like a Magnus to me."

Charles turned the paper over and offered it out, that shade of sympathy bleeding back into his eyes even though there was no reason for it to be there.

"One of your 'friends' may or may not have dropped that." Charles explained slyly.

He snatched the paper out of Charles's hands impatiently and skimmed it. The majority of it was nonsensical bureaucratic gibberish saying who approved what to be read by whom and until when. However, blocked a the top was a short physical description that sounded achingly familiar and a short list of possible aliases.

Erik Lehnsherr. _Erik Lehnsherr._

He folded the paper up, tucked it into his jacket pocket, and looked up at the man who had given it to him. He was standing patiently, calm, and oddly supportive. It made him wonder if the bumbling humor he'd been displaying earlier wasn't completely intentional to lighten the mood.

"Charles," He said, the name feeling weird to say but saying Xavier would have been even worse.

Charles smile edged on a grin, "You have four minutes, Erik."

For the first time that he could remember, he found himself smiling back.

"Goodbye, Charles."

V.

Charles fell back into his original seat with little grace and cupped his hands over his mouth to as if it could somehow regulate his breathing in any way. He felt out of place in the now empty compartment, the remaining adrenaline in his veins left with nothing to do and nowhere to go. The book he'd been reading prior to... everything, had tumbled to the floor, bending the pages awkwardly where it fell open. The accompanying notes were still on the seat, though the heavy metal pen he'd been writing them with was now conspicuously missing.

He let his hands drop clumsily and took in a breath.

He would get off at the next stop and find some other mode of transportation to Geneva. The way he'd arranged it, those mercenaries (That's what they were, he found out when he'd allowed himself to look deep enough) wouldn't come looking for him. He hoped. He hadn't used his ability this much, well, at all in _years_ and while he could claim telepathy was like riding a bike it was probably closer to riding a unicycle across a greased tightrope.

It was quite by coincidence that Charles turned to look out the window as a person passed by the glass. It would have seemed like a rather pedestrian sort of silhouette if it weren't for the subtle shape of a gun in one hand.

"Damn." Charles pushed himself up from his seat and towards the door, pulling it open as fast as he could manage without making too much of a sound. Any plan he'd actually intended however, fell to the wayside just as he remembered how utterly crap he was at sneaking up on people.

The mercenary spun around on him, gun pointed directly at a part of Charles's torso that he'd very much like to remain un-vented. Charles froze in his spot, putting his hands up in demonstration of peace, mouth opening to try to find something to say. Instead he found himself utterly distracted by the state of the mercenary's face. He looked very much like someone had kicked him straight in the face, nose bleeding and bent completely crooked, two rapidly blacking eyes, and a wet sort of breathing that didn't bode well for his continued health.

He was also rather tall which was probably why Charles didn't see Erik coming up behind the man until the mercenary's face had been swung straight into the wall. The sound of his cheekbone impacting was a wet, reverberating monster of a sound, and it made Charles jump despite himself. Neither of them said a word until the mercenary had finished sliding his way down the wall into an unconscious pile of boneless limbs on the floor.

Erik leaned down to relieve the man of his gun, dismantling it and dropping the bullets in his pocket with an astounding ease. He deposited the rest of the disassemble parts into a conveniently placed trash can.

"You just can't go anywhere without being taken hostage, can you?" Eirk said in such deadpan that it took Charles a moment to detect the humor underneath it.

Charles took the joking challenge proudly, "How else could I make new friends?"

Yet again, Erik had one of those torn looks. Like he couldn't decide if Charles was crazy or something else that might possibly be more terrifying. In the end, it didn't seem like he minded as he just sighed and gestured for Charles to step over the unconscious mercenary.

"Let's go then, I think you've made enough 'friends' for one day and we have a train to stop."

… and that was how Charles Xavier, Professor of Genetics, with two doctorates and a reputation for his sister getting into _far_ more bar fights in the last year than he has in his entire career, came to be dragging an unconscious, bleeding man down a hallway.

It wasn't too far up to the main engine and the trip from A to B was blessedly uneventful. There was an intimidating iron door leading from one of the employee cars up into the lead car, the wooden and rubber floor coverings missing in the gap between the two cars. The only thing keeping them and the rapidly passing railway tracks from turning into a gooey mess was a heavy, sectioned metal grate. The grate, however, did nothing to keep the cold air out of the car, shooting ice specked air swirling around the room.

Erik dropped the unconscious man's other arm as soon as they passed the grates, motioning for Charles to do the same. That was all the explanation he got before Erik continued on up the short flight of steps into the front cabin.

"Wait!" Charles said in his lowest voice, "What are you going to do?"

Erik stopped on the second step to consider the question before answering as if it were the only obvious conclusion to come to, "I am going to ask him nicely to stop the train."

Charles found himself amazed at Erik's ability to be so obviously sarcastic while being completely deadpan and it didn't inspire him to further his questioning. There wouldn't be much of a point anyway as Erik was already gone, leaving him alone with the dead weight. Charles looked down at the mercenary pityingly. His face was now more of a purple mess of blotches than anything recognizable and when he breathed through his misshapen nose he snored. Loudly. Charles knelt down next to him to check his pulse, hesitating just before he pressed two fingers to his wrist.

The skin contact brought forth the same tense feeling in the back of his mind it always did, like something desperately wanting to get out. He ignored it for the moment in favor of making sure the man wasn't about to drop dead but that delaying tactic didn't last very long.

Minds are constantly working Gordian knots of complexity and what you get out of them depends quite a lot in how and more importantly _when_ you approach them. A person at ease will be less likely to notice the intrusion but if you touched on any alarming memories it make them instantly aware of the sudden change of thinking, cluing them into the intrusion. Someone already riled can be harder to break into initially but once you're in, their plans are usually easily accessible on the edges of their mind and any further investigation is easily rationalized away.

Of all the frame of minds, the sleeping one is the most wild, and the one type of mind Charles least liked invading. Waking minds have a certain order. Thoughts of the short term are on the outside edges of the mind, easily accessible, while deeper, more personal thoughts get pulled close to the inside, wrapped tight around the part of the mind that controls all the rest. The part that makes you, _you_. Some minds even go so far as to create physical landscapes to organize them further.

But in a sleeping mind those rules don't necessarily apply. When you're asleep, the mind opens all the metaphorical cabinets you store your memories in and lets even the darkest memories breathe. Though, that isn't even remotely close to an accurate metaphor. In reality yes, the mind was open, easily readable while asleep but it was about as easy to do as trying to read loose sheets of paper in a windstorm with no hands. It was nigh impossible.

Charles didn't do it often, he didn't like to, but something had been bothering him about this since he'd first read that fake Interpol man. These mercenaries were immensely set on catching, no- he couldn't lie even to himself, _killing_ Erik though Charles had yet to find a solid reason why. Sure, money was a good enough reason for most hired guns but the fervor and the abject _hate_ they had for a man they had never met... it didn't ring right. Then there were the occasional snatches of... something that shot a shiver down his spine. It was an indescribable wisp he found scattered around the men's minds and Charles thought he knew what it meant.

Something was missing. Well, not missing. Buried... and if there was any place Charles could dig it up it was in a sleeping mind.

Charles looked over his shoulder to make sure Erik was still politely inquiring about making an unscheduled stop, then he took a breath, latched his fingers a little tighter around the unconscious man's wrist, and dove in.

He almost instantly regretted it. The added bonus of a unconscious mind instead of a normal sleeping one seemed to be that the outside pain carried along with it. Charles did his best to block it out, only succeeding in pushing it into a dull ache. Then the true barrage began. Snips of memories shot by at unimaginable speeds, laced through with the chaos of unreality, the brain filling in the gaps with could haves and would haves. He pushed past them, untangling himself from any memories as soon as they hit him.

He slid through a halfway constructed memory of dark concrete floors and ratty plywood walls into another whose only memorable quality was the smell of burnt pine... then he caught it. It was that same indescribably _something_ fogging everything around it and inspiring anxiety in anyone daring to look at it straight on.

Charles pushed. Bits of conversation loosened first, still tangled. Talks of compensation, descriptions read from a piece of paper pushed across a folding card table. The paper Charles recognized as the one he'd pulled off of one of the mercenaries, but it was pulled off a thick stack of others. The mercenary leaned over to look at the stack innocently before a pale feminine hand slapped on top of it, closing the top of the folder. She hadn't covered it well enough though...

At the corner in words that had a very militaristic tint: **mutant identified** and **capture or eliminate**.

Charles backed out of the mercenary's mind faster than was probably safe and didn't stop there. He stood up and put as much distance between between them as the car would allow, the connotations already swirling around in half formed thoughts in his mind. He leaned heavily against the bare iron wall and sighed, face grim, and only then did he allow himself to fully accept certain truths.

1\. Erik was a mutant.  
2\. Someone was _collecting_ them.

He couldn't be here. He'd gotten too close already. He should have _known_ even if Erik didn't, he should have seen that characteristic brightness mutant minds had, but he was out of practice and out of his depth. A million reasons why he should just bolt back to his compartment were readily available but Charles found himself thinking only one thing.

"Not again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to follow on the kinkmeme you may find it here: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/3278.html?thread=4076238#t4076238


	3. You Know What They Say About Assumptions.

It wouldn't be an altogether untrue statement that Erik didn't specifically remember much... but he was pretty sure that trains were supposed to have drivers. Curiously, Erik noticed as soon as he hit the top of the short flight of stairs, this one didn't.

The room was raw, pure mechanics with none of the flair that was in the rest of the passenger cars. The only furnishing being the two bolted in chairs, a coat rack on one wall, and a thick control panel pushed along the front windows. There was every indication that someone _had_ been there, and recently but it was completely empty at that moment. It looked very much like he'd been in the middle of lunch, complete with a half full cup of coffee sitting probably unwisely on the edge of the control panel.

Erik brushed a finger along the outside of the cup, fingers seeping in the residual warmth before he dismissed the missing engineer entirely. This made things all the simpler, and since the half formed shiver down his spine was refusing to divulge any details on why he _should_ be alarmed, he didn't have time to entertain it.

He reached across the chair to pull back on what he deduced was the throttle (helpfully labeled in French) and immediately felt the train slow its persistent urging forward. The forward momentum would still take a while yet to wind down but it would give him a chance to find a unobtrusive place to jump off.

When he leaned back away, he looked down at the chair and frowned. Folded up neatly and placed on the seat of the chair was a pure white fur coat. Even with his earlier incorrect assumptions that engineers should actually be present when they were driving a train, Erik was more than sure that pristine fur coats cut to properly display a woman's cleavage weren't the sort of thing any engineer would be caught dead in.

Erik, left it at that, feeling a new sense of urgency claw at his spine, a feeling that wasn't helped at all when he quietly slipped back down the stairs to see Charles looking absolutely stricken. Throughout this whole affair he hadn't seen the other man truly worried or scared, and right then, the smaller man looked like he was trying to sink into the wall he was leaning against and never come back out.

"What is it?" Erik asked after checking to make sure the mercenary was still unconscious.

To his credit, Charles pulled himself together as soon as Erik made his presence known but the humor that had colored his reactions thus far was now replaced with something more cautious and thoughtful. Charles gave a short shake of the head but didn't offer anything else. Erik didn't feel the need to ask either.

"Come on," Erik tilted his head in the direction of the doorway, left open so they could hear anyone coming ahead of time, "The train will slow soon."

Charles didn't move from his place at the wall, that worried look suddenly intense, "Erik, there's something-"

Whatever it was, Charles didn't get it out, the loud crack of a bullet and the accompanying ricochet saw to that. Moving mostly on reflex Erik hit the wall next to Charles, an iron half-wall providing cover from the shooter. It didn't stop whoever it was from trying. Another two shots pinged uselessly off machinery, one gouging a hole into a pipe which instantly filled the room with a foul smelling steam. The both of them hunched lower against the wall to avoid breathing it in and Erik took the opportunity to push Charles into the safer corner so he could ease a look down the short corridor at the shooter.

If he had to guess, Erik would say _that_ was the engineer. He also wasn't alone.

"What?" Charles asked lowly, turning his shoulder into the wall and sliding down another inch to keep out of the steam.

"Our Interpol 'friends' got out." Erik said in a calm voice he'd long since ceased being surprised at. Ever since he'd woken up, in the few times he'd seen a gun, they'd never scared him even though he knew they should. Speaking of, Erik looked around the corner again, the steam covering his movements rather nicely, "I'm not sure if they have weapons though..."

"They don't," Charles supplied, a bare spark of his earlier humor jumping to his eyes.

Erik whipped over to look at the man, "and how did you manage that?"

"I asked nicely." Charles responded in an imitation of Erik's non-sarcastic sarcasm.

The engineer fired another experimental shot into the room, drawing them both back to the task at hand. They were pinned down in a car with no exit. He could draw the man into wasting his bullets but then they'd still have five people to contend with and a very limited time span to do it in. Erik cast a look down through the metal grating below him, noticing the spin and roll of the under workings of the train leading back until he noticed the car's coupling half a yard up.

A quick order to "Stay." was all Erik afforded Charles before he pushed around the corner towards the grate between the two cars, the steam working in his favor as it had thickened enough that the men beyond could barely see a few inches in front of their face. Very quietly, Erik flattened himself down on his stomach and eased the grating up at a diagonal, using it to give himself some cover, then he leaned down to reach for the coupling.

The sound of the train had been loud before, but it was deafening when your face was only a bare few feet from the gravel and ties rushing past. Erik faced it coolly, quickly disconnecting the two fail safe chains before the engineer caught on and the bullets started flying again, one of the bullets connecting the grate in a shower of sparks and a ring that vibrated the whole panel against Erik's shoulder.

Erik growled noiselessly at it, more a determined baring of teeth and reached down further, stretched out to the tips of his long fingers to grasp at the heavy bolt securing the coupling together. He only skimmed the top of it frustratingly as the Engineer's blind shots started getting too close to home. He reached harder, willing his arm to grow longer, the bolt to grow closer, that nagging intuition screaming something at him in a language he didn't understand. A lucky bullet slipped through the grate and tore a shallow line along his cheekbone, and just as it did, the muted knowledge suddenly brightened to a pure point of light.

The coupling came apart. Not just apart either, the heavy iron mechanism meant to hold the full weight of the thirty cars behind it _shattered_ in front of him. The grate toppled off his shoulders and disappeared under the cars as the train lurched under the force of the disconnection. The flimsy leather and plastic that covered the joining of the two cars tore at the seams, the brake lines snapping and spraying oil wildly.

Suddenly without a shield and the open air thinning the steam that had been covering him thus far, Erik retreated quickly back behind the wall.

He didn't realize he was smiling like a mad man until he saw the slightly pale returning look on Charles's face. The man's blue eyes looked him up and down, took in the sight of Erik's oil and grease covered hands, along with the other miscellaneous sounds he'd heard, and finally just shook his head.

"I think a congratulations are in order."

Erik flashed him a full on smirk. He looked back around the corner to see they were pulling away from the rest of the train, the other cars dragging dramatically behind due to the extra weight. They'd roll to a stop harmlessly somewhere in the next mile or two. The engineer and the other men had given up, perched at the edge of their car looking absolutely pissed.

Erik was just considering gloating when the men parted to let a startlingly white figure in between them. It was a woman in an elegant, yet scandalously cut white dress, standing there seeming for all the world like the Queen herself. Erik frowned at her even as the sight sent an unnatural cold feeling twisting around his spine.

A hand clamped down on his wrist with absolutely no warning and the cold feeling was suddenly gone. Erik whirled around, a growl already caught in his throat, and he found Charles, his expression placidly cool and curiously understanding even though Erik himself didn't know what there was to understand.

"Since you stole the train, I think it's your obligation to drive it, yes?" Charles said calmly.

Erik cast one more look at the other cars, now far enough back he could only identify the people standing there by the smudges of black and white clothing, and soon he couldn't see even that.

Charles tugged on his arm, pulling him away, "Come on."

Erik did.

VII.

Erik swiped his sleeve on the frosted glass of the building. House was too generous of a word for it, it was really more a squat square shed set alongside some out of season farmland Erik couldn't identify. Farmer. Yet another occupation he could cross off the list of possibilities, he deduced. Farmer and Train Mechanic, otherwise he wouldn't be in this situation just then.

When he'd gotten a second look at the engine, he discovered the bullets that had torn through the train's engine weren't harmless. The tiny metal projectiles had gouged sizable holes in various bits of evidently important mechanisms and piping, one bullet even managed to embed itself into the workings of the control panel. The engine refused to speed back up, even for a short distance. It wouldn't make it to the next town, even if Erik did want to go there to the waiting arms of god knows who. He guessed it wouldn't even manage getting halfway there, but he didn't bother finding out. The engine had been useless to him, and he'd grabbed the few things of use from inside and abandoned it completely. Which did remind him of the other oddity of his day.

"Front door is padlocked," Charles called as he came back around the corner of the building, newly fallen snow crunching noisily under his boots until he finally came to a stop next to the window as well. "Though I doubt anyone has been here in a while."

Erik nodded absently in agreement, working a finger along the edge of the windowsill. There was a nudge in his mind to just go around to the front door, that told him the padlock wasn't an issues just as that train coupling hadn't been. He silenced the inclination by pulling the window out on its hinge, aided by the rot of the weather beaten wood.

"Can't say I've ever broken in anywhere before," Charles looked up at the high window with an edge of indecision, but it wasn't anything serious. They both knew the night was due to drop to soul crushing temperatures and with no other structures in sight, the decision was moot. Erik signaled as much by lacing his fingers together to offer a step up. Charles sighed to himself, but he was perfectly in peace with the decision by the time he'd used Erik as a step and crawled his way through the window into the warmer room. He just wish he could have done it more gracefully, the best he managed was an awkward landing on a table just under the window that made the whole thing wobble.

Of course Erik pulled himself through with no help whatsoever, dropping his hold on the ledge so that he landed perfectly on the tile floor, not ruffled in the slightest by the experience.

"What?" Erik asked as he closed the window behind him, locking out the last tormenting gush of cold air.

Charles blinked back to attention, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"You were staring." He responded unflinchingly, apparently not all that worried about polite small talk.

"I was?" Charles feigned innocence, making a show of looking around the small shed. It looked very much like it was half storage, half place for whoever was working the fields to take a moment's break. There was a table with two chairs, a disastrous looking green woven couch, and, holy of holies, indoor plumbing. There was a small kind of frightening looking bathroom tucked in what would otherwise be described as a closet, but it was there, and he wasn't about to second guess that.

Erik was nowhere near the mood to let this go. He knew from his limited memory that people being purposefully difficult never really sat well with him. They'd instantly pull on that constant undercurrent of anger running in his blood. Somehow Charles managed to dodge that particular danger, instead he just forced Erik into an incredibly stubborn state.

He pressed the topic, watching the other man like a hawk, not missing the quick side looks Charles kept sending his way, "You were. _Are."_

Charles gave the bare iron sink in the corner an experimental use to see if the water would heat, it didn't, before awarding Erik a bemused look, "Erik, I've just somehow roped myself into gallivanting across the open countryside in the dead of winter after helping steal a train with a man I know nothing about." He laughed, "You're going to be getting some looks."

The answer was perfectly reasonable but still completely inadequate. He felt that way about most things however, like he was never getting enough information, and he wondered if he wasn't just letting that bleed over into everything no matter if they deserved it or not. However unlikely that was.

He took a look back out the window at the darkening sky, pleased only now at the snow. It'd hide their tracks quite nicely as well as keep any movement against them to a minimum.

Charles made a triumphant noise as he found a portable stove and some miscellaneous cans in a box under the table, flashing Erik a smile. He lined up his discoveries on the tabletop, managing to find a pot and a crude can opener as well.

"So, are you going to tell me who you are?" Charles asked flippantly, dropping the pot into the sink to see if the black splotches were burns or remnants of past meals. I made him miss the jolt that shot through Erik, freezing him temporarily in his place. Erik quickly covered the reaction by scrutinizing the flimsy label of whatever instant soup inside the can.

"...and if I don't?" Erik answered, carefully keeping his voice an unbothered murmur.

Charles barked out an indignant laugh, looking at Erik as if he was being silly, "After all we've been through, my friend, I'd like to at least know _something."_

"Is that so?" Erik challenged conversationally, tapping a knuckle on the tabletop, "I could say the same of you, and yet I'm not asking."

Charles was grinning at the pot, pouring the cold water out and refilling it before he answered, "You're not curious?"

Erik made a show of looking up and frowning, as if he was truly considering it, "No. Not at all."

"I must seem _terribly_ boring then," Charles said in a mocking apology, hefting the pot to sit it over the kerosene burner, shuffling the table's contents around as he looked for something. Not missing a beat, Erik plucked a book of matches from between two boxes and pressed them into Charles's hand, earning a quick thank you.

"Not boring," Erik explained, leaning against the table as Charles attempted to light the burner. "I just already know everything I need to about you."

Charles's grin took on a sly curve, head tilting ever so slightly, "Come now, Erik, are you trying to claim you're a mind reader?"

"Nothing as absurd as that," Erik answered with a snort, momentarily confused by the sudden cross of Charles's arms and the slight widening of his smile, "I can simply tell."

Charles ducked his head to hide a laugh he'd obviously failed in keeping in, carrying through with the motion by brushing past Erik to drop into the couch. He settled back, crossed his legs, and propped his chin up with his palm, the picture of open amusement. "Forgive me, I think I'm going to have to ask you to prove it."

Erik leaned back into the table cautiously, feeling very much like there was a trap here but not knowing precisely what it was. Charles wasn't forthcoming either, he just sat there patiently, looking somehow both mischievous and innocent all at the same time. It was unnatural.

"Alright," He agreed almost reluctantly, pulling the table's chair out to sit across from the other man. He started with the easy part first, "You're English, probably from London..."

"Wrong." Charles said with an obvious smile he was trying to hide politely behind his hand. "American from New York, though I will give you a half point as I do have dual citizenship."

Erik was left with no choice but to frown, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"Please continue," Charles coaxed, amused, "Don't let me discourage you."

Erik set his jaw and forged on, refusing to be beaten, "High class."

Charles nodded, "Yes."

"Educated."

"Yes."

"Only child."

That insufferable hidden grin cropped up again, "No. Sister and step-brother."

"Oldest, then." Erik pressed.

"Middle, by a year."

Erik couldn't help the edge of a growl from escaping, "25 years old."

"Thank you but 29." Charles said apologetically, "I mean this in the best possible manner, but I don't think you're very good at this."

Erik frowned, "and you're extremely obnoxious."

Charles nodded and shrugged, "That one is correct, though really more a matter of opinion."

Charles did feel bad for Erik, the whole game was weighted in Charles's favor given that Erik was missing a terribly vital bit of information, a piece of information he'd deemed as an "absurd" possibility too. He made no attempt at trying to think what he'd be like without his mutation, but he had a feeling Erik's assumptions might be a little closer.

Erik, to his credit, seemed to be taking the utter failure well. He'd given the whole situation a dismissive snort before abandoning his chair to peer into the pot of watery soup. Charles managed to wait until his back was turned before he proceeded to openly stare again.

Even as Erik had gotten so many things wrong, at least _some_ had been right. Charles had looked (impolitely, and mostly accidentally) into the man's mind on several occasions and he didn't even know that much about him. Just a vague sense of things lost. Charles was absolute rubbish at telling things about people from context clues, he'd never had to develop the ability early on and it wasn't something you just picked up later in life, so as much as he tried to stare at the man's back, he gleaned no more information from it. All he knew at this point was his name, that he was a mutant of some description that Charles hadn't figured out, and that some group or individual was after him for that fact.

It wasn't much to work from...

"You're staring again." Erik said idly, not having turned around the whole time to look.

Charles jumped and fought down the near instant blush at being caught, "I did warn you I was going to."

Erik let out a sarcastic hum, but didn't say more than that. He'd found a wooden spoon in the same box and was giving the simmering soup-water a stir. If Charles hadn't been inclined to stare before, he certainly would be now. There was something amazingly bizarre about Erik Lehnsherr cooking. Dismantling a gun, punching a man into unconsciousness, those all seemed completely natural... cooking, however.

"You're st-"

"I'm well aware." Charles cut him off before he could finish the words and resolutely turned his gaze to the scratchy woven material of the couch. The wind had turned into a terrible howl outside, knocking a loose bit of tin siding at a random tempo.

"Your siblings," Erik said randomly, catching Charles off guard. He hadn't turned around, still puttering around with the things on the table, face turned away, "What would they think if they knew where you were."

A laugh was Charles immediate reaction, but he didn't call Erik on the randomness of the question, "Well, Raven," Charles pulled his shoes off, the snow starting to melt through uncomfortably, and folded his legs in front of himself, "Raven would be absolutely jealous. The whole time we were in Oxford she kept talking about wanting to be one of those backpacking vagrants roaming around Europe. I think the only thing that kept her from doing so was that she formed this ridiculous idea that I'll forget to eat if she's not around... which is absolutely not true, might I add."

Erik remained turned away, but every once in a while he'd have to move and Charles could see the edge of a soft smile, "And your step-brother?"

"Ah yes... Cain," Charles said diplomatically, "I doubt he'd have an opinion on the matter."

That got Erik to turn around partially and Charles met his sideways look fearlessly.

"You're making assumptions again," He said, "And remember how good you were at that earlier?"

Apparently this was a special occasion, or a particularly obnoxious answer, because Erik lifted his no eye rolling ban for it. Charles chuckled into his palm, feeling weirdly at ease, despite everything else. The room was heating up slowly, whatever Erik was doing to that army surplus soup was making it actually smell quite good, and even the tense set of the other man's shoulders had dissipated. The dinner fully heated, Erik had even gone so far as to shed that black leather jacket he'd been wearing.

Of course that brought something else to light. At a passing glance (Charles refused to admit he'd been staring at the man's back again) he noticed something irregular at the back of Erik's shirt. The material was a dark gray but not so dark that it was impossible to see several darker lines sticking stubbornly to his skin.

Charles wasn't really aware of standing up until his bare feet hit the cold tile, Erik tensing at the sudden movement behind him.

"What?" Erik snapped quickly, turning partway in an attempt to put Charles in front of him. Charles had other ideas, sidestepping him and putting a halting hand on his shoulder to keep him from trying it again.

"Were you hurt?" Charles asked sternly, other hand hovering over the darker patches, noting the slight liquid sheen the cloth had taken.

"No." Erik responded automatically, voice taking on that warning growl Charles was becoming so familiar with that it wasn't really intimidating anymore.

Unimpressed, Charles brushed a hand down Erik's back. Erik failed spectacularly at hiding his wince, and, if that wasn't enough proof, Charles held up his fingers to show their new red color.

"Right. Off, then." Charles chided stepping over to the sink to rinse the blood off his hand, leaving Erik to stand there stunned at the sudden change of tone. It took until Charles had found a second, smaller pan and commandeered the kerosene burner to heat up some more water before he'd gathered himself enough to respond.

"You can't be serious."

Charles discovered a mostly clean towel which cleaned more under some water, "Unless you have a mutation that allows you to bend your arms completely around to reach your own back or fancy dying of some kind of infection, I'm completely serious."

Erik hadn't yet realized how futile it was to say no to Charles Xavier, but it didn't take long to become completely acquainted with the idea. Long enough for the water to boil and then cool down to a tolerable temperature. He did manage to hold out long enough to scrape together some of his dignity and a bit of the soup before Charles lost his patience and attempted to just pull Erik's shirt off himself.

In the end, he found himself sitting backwards in one of the flimsy chairs, Charles sitting behind him on the couch with the pan of water, cloth, and a tin of first aid supplies neither of them was surprised to find. They'd guessed whoever owned this place must have been some old army dog, gathering supplies for the worst. Erik was grateful for it, even if it encouraged Charles into whatever nurse head space he'd gotten into.

"You aren't a doctor are you?" It occurred to Erik to ask as he settled into the chair.

"Yes," Charles answered with a half grin, "But not the type you're hoping for."

"Encouraging," Erik grumbled low in his throat, "Then what type of doctor are you?"

"Genetics and Biophysics. Stop procrastinating. Off with it."

He obliged, tugging the dark cloth over his head in one clean sweep, swallowing any urge to wince as the material came away from his half dried wounds with audible pops. If he hadn't been listening for it, he would have missed the slight hissing sound Charles let out, a sound that told him there really hadn't been all that much improvement since he'd looked at his back in the mirror that morning.

Erik pitched his shirt to land in a heap on the table, crossed his arms, and leaned forward into the back of the chair, knowing this was probably going to take a while. The best he could do was try to put himself as much at ease as was possible. Even then, he tensed painfully as soon as he felt the slight touch of Charles's finger on his shoulder blade.

He knew what Charles was seeing, could feel the hesitant trace of a finger mapping the outside edge of yellowing bruises, long past the worst stage but still telling a detailed story of what had recently been there. Charles tested the edge of the older injury, pressing on each bone to test for breakages, marking the measure of each tense flinch. Medical doctor he may not be, but he seemed to be curiously good at it regardless.

"Biology and Medicine tend to overlap a great deal," Charles answered the question Erik hadn't asked, which Erik found very curious before Charles hastily started to wipe the dried black blood from the cuts, effectively distracting him.

"Sorry," Charles mumbled genuinely, letting out a shaking sigh that felt oddly soothing on his back.

The bruises Erik had been able to understand, a sufficient impact with anything solid or a fall from a significant height could have gained him those bruises. The cuts however, those were the bizarre part of it. There were an arcing row of them from his left shoulder blade to the right, middle side of his back, all of varying depths but always the same length of only about four inches. To someone uninformed, which Erik still was, it looked strikingly like he'd been rolling around on a butcher knife.

"Who made these stitches," Charles asked quietly, wringing out the cloth into the pan, "They're really quite good."

Erik considered not answering, but he saw no logic in it. "A fisherman," he answered vaguely, if only to soothe his instinct to be difficult. He rested his chin on his arms and waited for Charles to inquire further, and he did, just not in the way Erik had expected.

"Did you fuss as much when he asked you to take your shirt off?"

Erik snorted, "He was a sixty year old ex-medic, I saw no reason to argue with him."

"Ah," Charles hummed, "So older men are more your type."

"Be quiet, Charles."

Charles answered only with one of those endearing laughs that rumbled up from his chest. The ones that, despite the stony look he'd been trying to fix on the wall, caused Erik to smile, if only inwardly.

Erik shifted to drop his forehead on his arms and let himself ease into the careful rhythm Charles was falling into, the alternating pull of a warm cloth and the chasing coolness of the smaller man's breath on damp skin. The whole affair had long since ceased being painful and had turned into something immensely more calming. For someone without any medical training, Charles seemed to intuitively know which patches of skin were more tender than others, requiring a lighter touch and which where simply tense and could use something with a bit more heavy handedness. He continued this way until the water had lost its warmth and the few minor broken stitches were repaired with pieces of tape and bandages.

...and for the first time in two weeks, Erik felt at peace.

It was absolutely terrifying.

"You want to know how this happened." He said suddenly, voice edging on confrontational.

Charles paused, "Pretending to be a mind reader again, my friend?"

Erik twisted, grabbing Charles's wrist in a flash and pulling it around at an awkward angle, forcing Charles to sit up tall to keep it from hurting. "Do you, or do you not want to know?"

That cool calm had taken over Charles's face again, and Erik was starting to recognize it for what it was: Armor.

"Yes." Charles answered honestly, not flinching even as Erik turned around in his chair to face him, pulling Charles's wrist as he did.

"Then why haven't you asked?" Erik said.

Charles shook his head, "Because you don't _want_ to tell me."

In that moment, every scrap of peace was gone, chased out by the animal instinct that had got him this far, instincts that had kept him _alive_. It all felt too easy, too precise. Nothing was that easy. Things don't just work out and luck is never on your side. That was what he knew for sure. For that he didn't need even a scrap of a memory.

…and here was Charles, who seemed to want nothing from this arrangement, who made it _easy_ on him. Made him complacent. That was his only crime.

Erik loosened his grip on the other man's wrist, sliding his fingers up gently to hold Charles's palm, thumb braced against the pronounced ridges of his knuckles. He stayed that way for a moment, fearless in his indecision. Then he sliced his gaze down to the ground. "You're right. I don't want to tell you." He swiped his thumb across Charles's knuckles once, as apologetic as he could allow of himself, before dropping it entirely.

Charles remained, carefully still as he watched Erik get up to retrieve his shirt, pulling it on in one swift motion, not a twinge of pain. Only after that did Charles slump somewhat, pushing some hair back that had fallen over his forehead simply for something to do, to prove he didn't think Erik was going to jump on him the minute he so much as breathed wrong. He just sat, scrambling for something pertinent to say...

"Get some rest," Erik cut him off, pinning him with a stare that gave no room for argument, "You'll need it."

Of course Charles had to try, "Erik..."

" _Sleep_. I'll keep watch."

Charles couldn't help but make a small noise of exasperation but he knew when a fight was lost. He'd leave it. Until the next day, at least.


	4. Road Blocks

VIII.

Raven gave her umbrella an aggravated shake as soon as she stepped into the hotel lobby, fingers struggling to find the button to collapse the contraption. She didn't need an umbrella. Her mutation kept her warm and her appearance at whatever level of perfect she wanted it that day. The umbrella was a ruse, one of the many things she had to remember in order to seem normal. Usually it wasn't such a big deal, but today she wanted to pitch the thing back out onto the New York street.

Today had not been her day. She came home over a week early in order to do one thing and only that. Go to the arbiter's office at 3 O'clock in Manhattan with all the appropriate papers and a friendly smile for this all important meeting and the sonnofabitch hadn't even bothered to show up. Hell, he hadn't even bothered to call.

"Cain you asshole," Raven turned the umbrella upside down, nearly winging another couple coming into the lobby, "This is all your fault." She finally found the button only to discover I didn't work. This was also Cain's fault, she decided, right before snapping the umbrella's mechanism and dropping the heap of cloth and metal into the nearest trash receptacle. Feeling decidedly more pleased, Raven squared her shoulders, tugged her bag up over her shoulder, and stepped up to the front desk with a bright smile.

To his credit, the employee at the desk managed to hide his confusion at her antics, and brushed right into the protocol to check her in. Raven still detected it. Another perk of her mutation. Body language was her bitch.

"Xavier, you said?" The man paused outright, nearly dropping the pretense of being calm.

"Yes." She said with a worried frown, "Please tell me my reservation is in there."

The man made a placating motion with his hand, "No, well, yes we do have our reservation it's just-"

"Ms. Xavier?"

Raven wheeled around to face the owner of the new voice. A woman with a kind, if professional demeanor stood behind her, another man and woman standing on either side. Raven dashed a look over each of them, memorizing them immediately on reflex.

"Yeah," She answered hesitantly, suspicious, "That's still me."

The woman stepped forward, auburn hair cutting a graceful circle around her shoulders yet somehow Raven was completely intimidated. Something was wrong.

"I am Agent Moira MacTaggert, and I'm wondering if I could have a word with you."

Raven's heart shot right up into her throat, and she wasn't sure if it was a metaphorical shift or not. She wrangled her best calm voice and it came with only a small tremble. She was always a good actress. "What about?"

Moira's eyebrows pinched in a concerned way, "It's about your brother, Charles..."

IX.

The world came back into focus smelling of cold, dirt, and cut wheat. While it probably wasn't the oddest thing Charles had ever woken up to, it was still not normal. It made his nose twitch irritably, reminding him of the odd texture of whatever it was he'd fallen asleep on. Charles opened his eyes, first looking at the weave of an unfamiliar green couch, then his focus widened.

Erik Lehnsherr was sitting in a chair across from him, openly staring.

Ah, right. Charles remembered. Sluggishly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, frowning openly at the man across from him who didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that he'd been caught overtly watching someone sleep.

"For your own benefit," Charles said in a sleep roughened voice, scooping a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth away the worst of his bedhead, "I think you should know that what you're doing right now is very unnerving."

Erik gave no outward sign of hearing him, though he was undoubtedly paying attention, his eyes sharply focused on every move Charles made. Other than that, Erik remained perfectly still, elbows on his knees, hands steepled over his mouth.

Charles made it into a sitting position despite the ache in his muscles and the cloud of sleep still clinging to his mind. He waited patiently to see if Erik had some grand point with all this, but after a certain amount of time, Charles grew concerned that Erik was simply stuck.

"What is it?" Charles prodded, soothing yet impatient.

Erik's hands moved down slowly until he let them drop into his lap, expression gravely serious.

"I was intending on leaving you here this morning." He stated finally, no apology in his voice. In return, Charles kept his reaction down to a slight offset of his jaw. He could sense the delicateness of this conversation. He wouldn't push it. Erik seemed pleased at the reaction, or at least that's all Charles could intuit from the barely there upturned corner of his mouth.

"As soon as the storm cleared," Erik continued calmly, "I left enough money for you to make your way back to Paris, then I walked the rest of the way into town to find a car. Except when I arrived, they were already setting up roadblocks."

Anxiety twisted itself into Charles's gut, "They're looking for you."

Erik let out a humorless laugh, flashing sharp teeth, "Not just me."

What he meant clicked into place very quickly and Charles ducked his head, pressing a knuckle between his eyebrow as if it could ward away the bad luck, "They're looking for me as well."

Erik pulled a piece of yellow paper, obviously a carbon copy of something or another, and pulled it taut, "Wanted for questioning are one Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier. They haven't got out photos as much as I could tell, they have descriptions for both of us." As much as he was trying to appear unbothered by all this, here was a certain edge of... something. Charles couldn't tell was it was and he wanted to enough that there was even a fleeting thought of reaching across the gap between them and seeing what was going on in the man's brain.

Thankfully he restrained himself, tucking his arms close around his stomach, leaning back heavily into the couch cushions, trying to concentrate on moving forward.

"Does it say what we are to be questioned about?" Charles asked.

Erik frowned like that bit of information hadn't seemed important. Maybe he lived the sort of life where being wanted for questioning was a daily occurrence. The idea didn't sit well with either of them. He flipped to the second yellow page, skimming down it quickly before he made a disgusted noise. Erik didn't bother reading it out loud, he just handed it over and leaned back into his seat.

Even with his limited french, it didn't take Charles long to find what Erik found so distasteful.

"Murder?" Charles's voice hitched up in disbelief, "Please tell me I'm reading this wrong, how is this even possible?"

Erik pointed sharply at the top of the paper, leaning forward again quickly, his aggression starting to show. Thankfully Charles knew enough now to recognize it as not directed towards him and more towards... whoever had got them in this mess.

"It says when they found the train the four men and the engineer were dead and they have six witnesses who swear they saw people matching our descriptions shoot them." Erik's accent tipped over from that mishmash of various European languages into something more Germanic when he was angry, consonants hitting with a vengeance.

Charles could relate. He dropped the paper quickly next to him on the couch, not wanting to look at it anymore, unfortunately that left his hands unoccupied. He laced them together as calmly as he could even with his breath threatening to turn shaky.

The silence dragged. Neither of them really felt like speaking anyway and there was so much to sort through, to figure out what this meant. They had four mercenaries, pretending to be Interpol, hired by an anonymous client, and now very dead. They were linked to a large organization, a small amount of people wouldn't need that much bureaucracy in their paperwork. In all likelihood they were military.

Charles dashed a look up to Erik, once again knowing he had a vital piece of information and yet he wasn't sure he should bring it up. The odd sort of bond they'd developed was tenuous. Erik had already admitted to wanting to leave Charles there once. He wasn't sure if it would survive him making crazy claims about psychics and mutants. He didn't know if Erik would give him enough time to prove it and, even if he did, it might very well still break their partnership right there.

Sure, he could tell Erik that there was a woman in white there on that train. A woman with fantastic and terrifying abilities that could make people see things that weren't there, do things they wouldn't normally do. That it was entirely likely that she made those witnesses see them shooting those other men in their minds, she made it so real they would never doubt it once for the rest of their lives. He could tell Erik that she tried to get into his mind as well, but Charles stopped her because... for better or worse, Charles was the same as she was. Erik had let someone who could, and has, seen everything in his head and could rearrange it on a whim just... hang around for no good reason.

Oh yes, that would go over well.

Charles let out a tense breath and, with it, let the topic go. He couldn't tell him, not now. Instead, he turned to something more pressing in the moment.

"What now, then?"

There was an obvious other question in the air after Charles spoke and by the quick narrowing of his eyes, Erik seemed to hear the unspoken one clearer.

Do you intend on leaving me anyway?

"You have options," Erik edged the question and watched Charles's reactions carefully, "You could plead your case with the local police. Tell them your story or make one up, there's little difference."

Charles pinched his lips together briefly and gave a laugh, "Ah yes, I've always wanted to see the inside of a French prison. They have such interesting reputations."

Apparently Erik had been expecting Charles to panic because the humor took him by surprise. Charles had no idea why. Sure, he wasn't feeling the best he'd ever felt, his guts were currently attempting to twist themselves in knots, but he wasn't about to shut down. He made sure to tilt his chin up in communication of all this. No need to worry, just fine here, thanks.

"Or..." Erik drug the word out, a slight frown still on his face, "I could take you the rest of the way to Switzerland and you can go to the embassy there."

Short of somehow finding a plane back to the US it really was the best option for him. He'd at least get a fighting chance over there instead of the downright assumption of guilt he would get on this side of the border. He knew that, but there was still one more problem.

"...and you?" Charles asked experimentally, "What will you do when we reach Geneva? You are no more guilty of this than I am."

Erik's expression closed off as Charles had expected it would, but not as severely as it had before. He seemed to be considering an answer at the very least. Progress. After a long gouge of silence in the conversation Erik stood up and offered a hand.

"Let's go, before they finish the road blocks."

X.

Raven pulled the bathroom door shut behind her, trying not to give away her haste to the CIA agents milling around in her hotel room. As soon as the latch clicked, she fell apart, and for her it was a literal expression. With a shuddering breath her scales peeled down her body, returning her to her native deep blue, her legs didn't put up much more of a fight after that, gently folding under her as she sank to the floor.

She had just spent an hour trying to convince three perfect strangers that her brother was not capable of harming anyone let alone shooting two people, point blank in front of four witnesses. Agent MacTaggert's thankfully less vocal partner, Agent Levine didn't seem to hold much weight in Raven's opinion. He'd kept a polite, if dismissive glaze to his eyes, like he was simply humoring all those involved that they were here at all. Their assistant, a girl who Raven hadn't yet caught the name of didn't seem to have an opinion on the matter, she was too busy darting in and out, sending and receiving phone calls, taking notes. Raven didn't put much hope in her.

Agent MacTaggert though...

Raven folded her arms up on top of her knees. Moira was the only thing that had kept Raven from ordering the three of them straight out of her hotel room at the first accusation. There was a certain something in her expressions. When she had read off the translation of the warrant, there had been a slight lowering of her eyebrows. Raven knew right then that Moira thought the whole thing was bullshit. It was well hidden, true, but she was an excellent judge.

"Miss Xavier?"

Raven jumped as she felt the knock at the door against her back. Speak of the devil. She carefully reassembled her disguise, painting her skin a flush pink, her hair blonde and wavy, then clambered up to the door handle.

"Yes?" She frowned a little at the woman, clinging to the door after she'd opened it partway.

"I wanted to..." Moira paused and checked over he shoulder, making Raven notice Levine and the intern were missing. The agent sighed, looking tired, "I wanted to say I'm going to do my best to get to the bottom of this. I find this a little hard to believe that Charles would do something like this."

Raven straightened up from her slouch immediately, and the motion immediately told Moira of her mistake.

"You _know_ Charles?" Raven leaned into the words, pleased at the silent 'Damn' that went over Moira's features.

"I..." She started badly, looking a little panicked.

Raven launched at the moment of weakness, "You do! You know him, you have to know that he's not capable of this!"

"Sssh." Moira put a silencing hand up before quickly shoving the both of them into the rather spacious bathroom, locking the door behind her. When she turned back to Raven she'd dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "You can't say anything or I'll be kicked off the case. I barely have jurisdiction as is."

Raven frowned at that, stepping back to lean against the white expanse of the counter, curiosity curling inside her ribcage, "How _do_ you know him?"

That question brought a slightly nervous bubble of laughter and an eye roll from Moira, "Two months ago after he presented his thesis. There was a ton of alcohol involved and some weird line about how I have a pretty MCR1 gene or something." Moira shook her head, but she didn't seem all that displeased, "It was really awful."

Raven felt a rebel grin pop up onto her face, hope joining the curiosity, "You were in Oxford?"

"Yeah," Moira nodded, "I was there on assignment, actually, to speak with him about his research. One of my superiors is interested in the topic and wanted to see if he'd like a job."

Through sheer effort Raven kept the grin on her face. Charles had said nothing about this, but now the sudden trip to France made sense. The military was taking an interest in mutations and Charles was doing his damndest to drag them as far away from that sort of interest as possible. Raven instantly felt suspicious of Moira again, even though nothing in her expression gave away the barest hint of guile.

"He turned the job down on the spot," Moira had continued, laughing, "but we've been keeping in touch since then. I was due to meet him and some other experts in his field today in Geneva actually. That's how I found out first and why I'm here now."

Raven let her grin sink naturally, it was a perfectly normal place to do so in the conversation, it gave nothing away. More puzzle pieces kept falling in and Raven wasn't sure if she was supposed to be feeling scared or angry at Charles for keeping her in the dark about this. It all sounded very much like him. He wouldn't trust the first invitation, but he wasn't the type to ignore a problem completely, not without investigating it first. Thus the letters, no doubt charming his way into more information without giving them more of a hold on him. Charles had even said that he was going to do a presentation to an outside organization, Raven hadn't really been listening as Charles had couched the whole conversation in the most boring lingo he could dredge up, no doubt intentional as well.

The whole realization did do one thing for Moira. It restored Raven's faith in her somewhat. If Charles had found it safe to invite her for a face to face meeting on neutral ground (despite the fact that he'd sent Raven far, far away) well, it spoke well for the agent.

"Are you going to help us?" Raven asked quietly, not yet to the point of begging but it was within walking distance. She felt immediately bad for the agent. The contradiction was all over her face. She wanted to help badly but to do so wasn't the most... professional of actions.

Moira sighed, shoulders sinking, "I'll do what I can."

XI.

Thanks to years of farming pathways, private streets, and wartime troop routes, creating an effective network of roadblocks with only a few hours of notice was nearly impossible. Half a day and two towns had passed by before they even came close to an authority with any idea on the matter, even then they weren't even near enough to be stopped. Everything was going so smoothly, more smoothly than it had been anytime in the last few weeks, and far more than it had any right to be going. The truck Erik stole was an old, dirty farming truck, tinged with rust, yet the monstrosity ran with a reliable rumble and blended into the dirt streets they drove so well that people didn't even bother looking inside the cabin. The place where a radio should have been was only a hollow pit on the dash, but that problem was easily resolved once Erik got Charles talking.

True to his word the geneticist hadn't pressed Erik any farther on his current circumstances, but he didn't have to. He had plenty of other things to talk about. His time at Oxford, which were slightly more drunken than Erik would have guessed from looking at him. His sister, who Erik was, despite himself, becoming fond of by proxy. Then, of course, Charles would talk about his research, doubly so after he figured out Erik was keeping pace with the conversation after only an occasional request for a definition.

Charles spoke about all of it with an excitement and absolute fondness that easily started seeping under Erik's skin. He found himself soaking it up, easily ignoring the own blanks in his mind, the lack of childhood memories, family, everything. For the moment, through Charles's detailed and colorful descriptions, he imagined his life was something like it, or even that he had been part of these situations. That he had been in just the next room over when Charles had made that breakthrough, or been sitting in the bar with Raven, sabotaging Charles's (in his own words) perfectly serviceable pickup lines. Despite a smirk and some prodding, Erik still hadn't gotten Charles to tell him precisely what those lines were, but he did manage to make Charles descend into a rather adorable blush which was nearly as good.

Once again, Erik found himself at peace, though each time he noticed, it bothered him less and less. Charles made it so effortless, after all. Erik felt mildly better about it after he discovered he wasn't the only one so easily put under Charles's spell. The one roadblock they did have to confront let them through after Charles gave the officer a few friendly words and solid handshake. It was all so very surreal.

The only thing that brought him back to earth and into his usual state of vigilance was when he remembered it was probably only a day's trip more to Geneva and then everything would be back as they were before. Erik would go back to chasing the ghosts of things he had no memory of and Charles would go just as blindly back home... hopefully.

These people chasing them had shown rather intimidating political prowess so far, flaunting names they should have no access to, rigging the system against them with amazing ease. Who knew what they were capable of.

Jumping the border wasn't a guarantee of Charles getting back home to that life he so eagerly described. It was perhaps a fifty-fifty chance in Erik's mind. He doubted Charles would have any better of a chance if he stuck with him, but at least then they would be on equal footing as allies.

Erik came to a decision, and, as the sky started to turn an inky blue and the wind picked up again to warn them of another snowstorm, he pulled over into a small hotel. Hotel was also a rather generous term, but generous descriptions were becoming routine. It was really a couple rooms over a restaurant, and it was all the town required. They didn't usually get many visitors and the typical patrons were husbands kicked out of their own houses by irate wives or people too drunk to work a doorknob.

Erik shunted Charles over to one of the wooden tables in he corner of the restaurant, and despite a curious look, he went without much comment. As distinctive as Charles's accent was in these parts, the fewer people he talked to the better, the last thing they needed was to be memorable. It also gave Erik a much needed moment to organize his thoughts while he set up a room and ordered the least questionable thing on offer.

The waitress and owner had a sleepy quality about her, and didn't bat an eye at Erik's slightly accented french. She didn't have much time to spend on him, what business the "hotel" didn't provide the restaurant sure did, and there were legions of other inebriated customers to be attended to. The luck of the situation annoyed him. He had almost wished the place would have been too quiet, or too packed, the staff too attentive, but no such luck. It was perfect.

"What are you doing?" Erik asked, genuinely curious as he walked to the table in the back corner, finding Charles copying information from a greasy piece of paper to a small notebook the size of his hand.

"Hm? Oh," Charles looked up and shrugged, "I'm copying down the registration information of the car you... borrowed. When this is all over and done with, I'll compensate him for the trouble."

Erik snorted out a laugh at the idea but he wasn't all that surprised, he really would have been more surprised if Charles hadn't. He tugged the chair out slowly and dropped into the chair, movements betraying his tiredness. He took the moment to breathe, looking at the notebook upside down as Charles flipped back through it. Yesterday he wouldn't have understood a lot of what he saw. Now, after a day of hearing about his research and life, he recognized the careful handwriting for what it was. Notes about sudden ideas, things to look up when the opportunity arose, numbers to contact Raven with. Charles had opened up his own life to Erik, it was his time to return the favor...

With a deft flip of his fingers Erik pulled something from his pocket and laid it on the table with a solid snap. No explanation, no attempt of hiding it, Erik just crossed his arms on the tabletop and waited.

Charles looked down at the object and then back up, for once at a loss for words. Erik didn't blame him. After all, what is the polite thing to say when someone drops a Nazi coin in front of you?


	5. A Little Liquid Courage

XII.

"I woke up two weeks ago off the coast of France with no idea where, or who I was." Erik announced after carefully gauging Charles's reaction. The geneticist hadn't done much, hadn't spoken, he'd just simply taken a breath and waited for more information. Erik felt oddly proud of him for the restraint.

"They found me floating on what remained of the ship I had been on," He rolled a shoulder in a shrug, "at least they assumed as much. What was left was too destroyed to identify what it used to be and most everything else had long since sank. When I woke up, I knew nothing of importance. Skills, yes, I had those, more than any man really should, but memories... " Erik looked up, suddenly aware they he'd shifted off to stare uninterestedly at the table top. The weakness rankled him and he stubbornly refocused on Charles, taking in the man's straighter posture, the widened blue eyes...

"Erik..." Charles whispered, the name sounding like an apology or maybe just sympathy.

"That too. My name. I didn't have a name until you _gave me one_ _..._ " He breathed shortly, almost a laugh. He wanted very much to look away as he admitted that, to let the revelation be impersonal, but he didn't. He watched every minute motion the other man made, tried to infuse the words with how much it meant and how damnably sorry that he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.

Charles's reaction subtle, the slight press of his lips and a flicker of eyelashes, not completely blinking, more like the motion of a person whose heart skipped a beat. Erik laced his fingers together tightly, painful, outwardly keeping a detached calm that was a rote skill just as much as the many languages he knew.

"Though," He finally broke the tension with a sarcastic tilt of his head, "that could be an entire other man's name." He slid his hand across the table, palming the reichmark effortlessly. He flicked it up over one knuckle and the next, turning the symbol into a blur of inoffensive lines.

"The point you need to understand, Charles, is that if I do not know who I am, neither do you." His tone had turned flippant and almost angry, "You could be sitting at a table now with anyone, of any creed, any background. I could have lived a peaceful life or I could have committed some of the worst atrocities known to man and history."

"You are _not_ a Nazi." Charles voice was determined, but low. The war hadn't been all that long ago and France wasn't the place to be tossing the word around.

"How would you know?" Erik slapped the coin down on the table, intensity in every line of him. "Do I not look German? When I'm not feigning another language, do I not sound like I am? I _think_ in the language, if I didn't remind myself every time I opened my mouth I would speak it as well. I could list you the standard firearms given to the enlisted of any army in the western world, I can dismantle and reconstruct any of them in record time, and I can _kill_ anyone effectively with them, without even thinking all that hard. The only reason I didn't kill those men on the train was because it would have taken too much time."

Charles shook his head and inhaled but Erik didn't let him get a word in.

"You _must_ understand this." He growled, catching Charles's wrist from where he'd laid it on the table, heart sinking a little at the overt flinch the other man gave at the contact. He almost regretted the last few minutes, instead he just found eye contact again and pushed the coin into Charles's palm. "When I woke up I had three things. A train ticket to Geneva, that coin, and absolute, soul deep hatred. _That_ is all I own. That is the person you've tangled yourself up with."

Erik let Charles's hand go, jaw clenching as the motion pulled out a sharp intake of breath from the other man. He stood up, taking a deep, steadying breath of his own as he did. This was good, this had to happen. He couldn't let the man live in ignorance any longer. Now he could make an informed decision.

"We've passed the area they will be looking for us in," He said calmly, making it seem like the conversation had ended amiably. The other patrons couldn't hear them but he didn't want to risk someone catching on to the body language and getting smart. "I'm heading up to the room. If you'd like, you can get a separate room and take the car tomorrow. I'll find another."

He dropped a good half of he money he had left on the table, Charles look at it like it was poisonous. Just as the geneticist seemed to be pulling himself together to voice an opinion, Erik cut him off again.

"Think on it." He ordered, before turning on a heel and walking away.

XIII.

Charles strode up the stairs with determination, struggling between his usual patience and the urge to throttle the other man, and it wasn't entirely his fault. Logically, he knew he shouldn't be angry, he usually wouldn't be. He could understand exactly where Erik was coming from logically, the problem was he also now understood his mental state all too well.

He didn't know what had happened to his control, but for some reason when it came to Erik, he had absolutely none. The slightest skin contact sent him directly into the other man's mind, thick into whatever emotion or thought he had at that moment. Usually Charles could pull himself back out again after the initial pull, with some effort...

Charles paused on the steps with a shiver at the memory of thirty minutes prior. The intense roil of emotions that usually simmered down at the bottom of Erik's mind didn't seem content staying there any longer. The minute Erik had grabbed his wrist Charles had been absolutely submerged in it, finding it difficult to fit his own thoughts in between. When Erik had finally let go, Charles had been absolutely spent, numb both mentally and physically.

It had been the only reason he hadn't immediately followed the idiot, he simply hadn't trusted his limbs to cooperate.

He found the room easily, there were only three of them after all. He tapped a knock on the door, waited for a polite amount of time, and proceeded in.

"If you order food, I think it's customary to wait for it at the table." Charles chided, shifting the tray he had on his hand to the other so he could close the door. The look of quickly hidden surprise on Erik's face didn't escape notice but Charles did all he could to pretend it had.

Erik was sitting at an antique looking square table flipping through a book someone else had left there, but he wasn't really reading it. Charles gently placed the tray of still warm food in front of him and released the bottle of liquor from under his arm, doing the same. "I asked nicely and she let me bring this up here, I just had to promise to bring the dishware back before morning." Charles said easily and dropped into the chair across from him like the altercation a few minutes before never happened. "Oh! I believe this is yours as well, and this." Charles retrieved the stack of money and the coin, placing them casually next to the bottle.

Erik's eyebrows had hitched up somewhere to the middle of his forehead at the display.

"Did you not hear a word I said?" He remarked, obviously frustrated.

"I'm not deaf, Erik," Charles stated primly, folding his arms on the table, "I heard you just fine and I thank you for the consideration in telling me, I don't take that lightly... However, I simply find your premise tragically flawed."

The (likely) German snorted and leaned back in his chair like he was sure he was witnessing a man go crazy, "Is that so?"

"Yes." Charles said, reaching across the table to snatch one of the two glasses from the tray, "Your problem is this: You're bothered by the idea that you might be someone awful."

Erik stared, laughing despite himself, "If this is your brand of logic, I see those two degrees were a waste."

"Please, Erik." Charles chided again, pouring whatever amber liquid was in the bottle.

"Then explain to me how my opinion on the matter changes the fact that you're spending inordinate amounts of time with a man who knows how to kill you six ways without moving from this spot?"

The innate threat in the words seemed to fly right over the geneticist's head, "Having certain skills, however dangerous, does not make a person evil."

"However, a man ignoring said 'skills' does make him profoundly stupid." Erik shot back bluntly, irritation flooding back.

Charles stoppered the bottle, eyebrow half raised at the the insult. He continued on unblinkingly, "Do you want to be a murderer, member of the SS, or some comparable type of pathological ne'er do well?"

" **No."** The conviction of the word surprised even Erik as it came out, that nameless something grasping up from the deep and coiling around his spine. The sound of it made Charles stop, if only for a second. Then, with two fingers, he nudged the full glass over to clink against Erik's tray of food and set to filling the other empty glass up for himself.

"Then I don't see the problem." He said calmly as he did, "Call me an idiot if you must."

Erik looked like he very much wasn't done with the conversation but another nudge of the glass towards him took care of that. With all the grace of an unstoppable force giving in to the immovable object, he downed the glass in one swift toss.

"You're right." He huffed, setting the glass down with more force than was strictly necessary. Charles didn't seem to mind, he'd broken out in a pleased smile, his own glass hanging gently from his fingertips. "You _are_ an idiot."

Charles outright laughed, switching his glass to the other hand so he could hold up one finger, "For one, you are really quite rude. For two, I may be an idiot but you're the man who requires my help and what does that make you, my friend?" With that, he tossed the remaining liquor down, overtly challenging.

Erik could only stare then shake his head, "How much have you had to drink?" He said the words even as he filled Charles's glass back up.

"Just a few drinks before I came up," Charles waved a hand in dismissal, "Believe me, this is not even one step down the road of inebriation. Besides, we're wanted for murder, if there's any reason to drink, that is it."

Not finding any fault with that argument Erik titled his head in defeat and lifted his glass, a tired smile on his face, "To justice, then."

Charles met Erik's glass, "Tchin tchin."

XIV.

"You know it's really quite stunning." Charles announced suddenly making Erik look up from he was leaning against the bed's headboard. The man in question was stretched out at the foot of the bed where Erik had coaxed him. If Charles was going to pass out, he wanted him to do it somewhere logical. Really, he had expected the smaller man to succumb to the alcohol half a bottle ago but, to his surprise, he was still very much alert and awake, if considerably more slurred in his speaking.

"Oh?" Erik asked easily, relaxed either by the alcohol or the company, he wasn't sure, he didn't feel like asking.

Charles pushed himself up, crossing his legs underneath him, "Your amnesia."

Erik frowned at the topic but couldn't put the usual force behind it. Yet again, company or contents of his glass, he didn't know, but he could say that Charles's current smile had a very endearing tilt to it at the moment.

"Post-traumatic Retrograde Amnesia." Charles said without slurring a single syllable, the rest of his sentences didn't fair so well, "You see it in books all the time, right? Right, and it's usually something like the protagonist gets hit in the head with... something, I don't know, a coconut. Then, nothing. All gone. But!"

Charles was conducting the conversation mostly with his hands, unfortunately his glass was in one of them. Gently, letting Charles talk as he did, Erik reached out and wrapped his hands around Charles's, removing the glass to set it on the nightstand and away from the danger of spilling. Charles watched it go away with halfhearted confusion before apparently deciding that this was a good thing and continuing on.

"Thank you." He said, taking a huge breath before pausing again, "What was I saying?"

Erik started to grin despite himself, it was a slow, lazy thing, but it was there, "Post-traumatic Retrograde Amnesia." He prompted, repeating it flawlessly.

"Right! If you went by what fiction tells us, you'd think it'd be easy, but! But, it's really quite rare and some say it's not even happened at all, not to a full extent that would allow someone to function as a normal human being after the fact." Charles shuffled a little up the bed so he could poke a finger in Erik's shoulder, "You shouldn't be able to tie your own shoes right now, let alone dismantle a gun! You fly in the face of recorded science, tear it up into tiny pieces, and throw it in a fire. You are _quite_ the marvel, Erik."

Somewhere between the comment about shoes and setting fire to science, Charles had forgotten about personal boundaries. He was now sitting just to Erik's side, Charles's hip fitting snugly against Erik's leg. For the third time, Erik had to wonder at the cause of the warmth in his chest... but he couldn't really blame the drink at that moment, he'd been so occupied watching Charles speak that he hadn't touched his glass in a good half hour.

Charles seemed to discover the contact and curled against it, like a kitten who desperately wanted to be petted. As soon as that mental image (and several other accompanying ones that made him wish they'd gotten a second room for propriety's sake) manifested in his mind, Erik felt the need to end this and end this quickly.

"Charles," Erik asked, reaching for a way to distance this situation. He tried to seem mocking, "Is this one of your famed pick up lines?"

"Why?" The geneticist asked fearlessly, hand reaching out to tug at the shirt over Erik's stomach, "Is it working?"

Erik blinked, suddenly annoyed with himself. That hadn't gone how he planned at all and now the subtle brush of Charles's fingertips on his stomach, even through fabric, made it too distracting to try further. His mind was firmly stuck in the one track he now found it in, blood rushing through his veins faster, carrying the alcohol with it and cutting any inhibitions off a the pass.

"Do you usually use these lines on strange men?" Erik asked, aware of the own heady thrum in his voice.

Charles looked down demurely but when he looked back up, the glint in his eye was absolutely mischievous, "Only ones who kidnap me."

Erik's hand had gone, completely of its own bidding, to run a finger along the outside of Charles's knee, daring up higher along the seam as he spoke, "and this happens often?"

A shaking breath snuck out of Charles's throat, untraceable to anyone not in his immediate area, but Erik found himself somehow far closer than that.

"Just the once," Charles said with a distracted smile, staring intently at something of interest on Erik's face, "He was really quite devastating, I had no choice."

If that hadn't of broken Erik it would have been the shudder of the other man's eyelashes, the dash of a tongue along red lips immediately following the words. Erik is pretty sure he curses in German as he sneaks a hand along the side of Charles's neck and around to the back of his head. The scratch of callused skin on the sensitive pale of flesh draws a throaty, surprised gasp from the smaller man and Erik wasn't about to let an opportunity like that pass him up.

Erik met Charles halfway, breathing into the gasp. Maybe it was a good thing he did, because Erik couldn't tell you precisely if either of them breathed in the next five minutes at all, at least it felt like that long, he really wasn't sure of that either. All he could say was that of all the times he turned over control to that dark, driven part of himself, this was the absolute best.

Charles made a surprised noise into Erik's mouth as the man hooked a hand around his knee and tugged Charles over closer, and the only way to do that was to be right in his lap. Charles had no problem with this and took the reigns from there, managing to untangle his legs and straddle Erik's lap without breaking contact. He'd tried once, reluctantly, but the growl Erik emitted dissuaded him from the move.

A tiny voice in the back of Erik's head worried that he was being too aggressive, that he was going to scare the other man off. The rest of him paid no attention to that voice, pulling Charles against him harder, close enough he could feel the reacting grin against his own. The voice quieted after that and they crashed back together in a flurry of completely uncoordinated kisses and licks until finally, _finally_ Charles found some leverage (and some considerable will) and pushed back away, just far enough that he could find air again.

"Just! Wait, hold..." Charles gasped in a breath of air, blinking rapidly to try to clear the fog from his mind, unsuccessfully it seemed. "I can't, can't think."

"That's not the point of it though, is it," Erik said roughly, running his fingers down the notches of Charles's spine and receiving another shudder in return.

"No it isn't," Charles hummed the words in agreement, sounding more dazed than he had all night. He bowed his head, face borrowing just next to Erik's, warm but not touching. "but it's... it's important. I think. It..."

Erik gently pulled Charles farther out so he could see him, could see the flush on freckled skin, eyes so dilated you could barely see the brilliant blue they should be. The position made Erik loose his grip on Charles's neck, hands now holding against his back and that insufferably tucked in shirt, the other at his shoulder, stabilizing him.

Charles blinked, making that attempt at a clear head again, this time it seemed to be moderately more successful.

"Ohgod," Charles moaned lightly, eyebrows pinching in instant regret. Erik tensed against him, drawing the geneticist's attention back. "No!" He hissed quickly, "No is not this it's... well." He floundered, obviously still slightly fogged, higher, middle, and lower level thought seeming to be just out of reach. Momentarily reassured, Erik searched for the right thing to do in the situation, some way to pass the reassurance back to Charles but when he reached for that instinctive part that always filled in the blanks in his skillset he found nothing. It made him worry. Had he never been affectionate, never had the opportunity or found it important? Stubbornly, he made an attempt, another brush of fingers across the other man's cheekbone, only to be stopped.

Charles bled apologies without actually saying them, "It's alright, it is. I'm... it..." He let out a frustrated sigh and gave up on words. He placed a kiss on Erik's rejected hand as another apology, curiously not on the skin but just where the fabric of his sleeve extended over his wrist.

"You should sleep," Charles said, the low purr of his voice turning regretful, "You haven't slept in three days and you would not like me driving tomorrow."

Erik frowned, not recalling ever telling Charles about his sleeping problems, halfheartedly thinking into the past days for tells. Then he suddenly didn't care, attention now with Charles as he ghosted a knuckle along the side of Erik's face.

" _Sleep_ , Erik." Charles said tenderly, "Please."

He drifted off immediately, after all, it would be rude not to.


	6. Sleep Deprivation

XV.

The restaurant had turned into a forest of upturned chair legs sometime in the last few hours, Charles noticed as soon as he stepped heavily off the staircase, tray of used dishes in clumsy hands. The atmosphere that had previously felt warm and boisterous was now cold in its vacancy, the blue tint of the few remaining lights as well as the fluffy points of falling snow outside saw to that.

Charles paused a few steps in, let out a shuddering sigh into the darkness, and closed his eyes. He felt insulated, no sounds of the hotel or any of its occupants, no sounds from the town, no stray thoughts seeping in through his skin to quietly strip him of any sort of morality or logic he had left. It was, he decided, solitary... only because lonely was simply too sad to say.

He opened his eyes again and slowly vaulted the tray on top of the bar, limbs leaden and uncoordinated, before looping around to pull it all the way over to the small sink to dump them in with several other dishes set to soak for the night.

"Damn it, what am I doing?" He whispered dejectedly to the dishwater. Predictably, it was a poor conversationalist, but he slumped against the counter all the same, lying his head into crossed arms.

It felt too surreal. One shouldn't have to do mundane things like wash dishes in times of major upheaval, it just felt... pointless. It was times like this he wished he was depressed drinker, at least then he'd have the ear of a bartender for the night. A bartender who would hand wave all the talk of mind reading and mutations as the ramblings of a drunk who had read far too many comic books and commiserate with him about how unfair the world and all its workings were nonetheless. He tilted his head so that his temple rested into the cool counter top, soothing away what was likely the start of a headache.

The motion did do one more thing for him, it made him notice the phone sitting under the lip of the counter. Then he remembered. Raven. He was supposed to call her hours ago, she was probably out of her mind with worry. He had the receiver in hand before he'd really thought it through, only the tricky operation of retrieving his notebook from inside his jacket slowed him down enough to actually think about how he wanted to play this. He was still wanted for murder, he couldn't drag that onto her, he would have to be careful.

Who would be reasonably calling Raven from a small town in France that wasn't him, and at this time of the night? Charles smiled to himself, one of her backpacking friends? What had been that man's name. Charles pulled the numbers of Raven's hotel into place on the rotary dial, pulling himself up clumsily to sit on the counter as he waited for the ring. The front desk picked up on the fourth and Charles politely asked for her room, identifying himself falsely.

It only occurred to him just as Raven picked up that he might have wanted to come up with a secondary plan on how to actually explain his current situation...

"Joseph?" Raven's voice said, obviously confused.

"Not really." Charles intoned, voice sounding more miserable than he intended. He attempted to reign it in. This was still his younger sister, she did not need to hear this.

"Oh hi, Joe, yeah, I've been better, how are you?" Raven answered oddly, followed by a rustle of her halfway covering the mouthpiece to speak to someone else in the room. "Hey guys, it's a friend of mine from London. Would you mind if I spoke to him alone, I really need to talk to a friend right now." The slightest twist of fake (or real, how would he know) grief seemed to clinch the deal and Raven thanked the anonymous people abstractly as they left. Then, as soon as they were all gone, Raven pounced back onto the phone.

"Charles, are you alright?" She practically shouted into the phone.

Charles winced, "If you could please not be quite so loud, thank you. Yes, yes I'm fine. Who were those people?"

"No, no. You first. What happened? Where are you?" She said aggressively, then, as an afterthought, "Are you drunk? You're drunk. I can't believe this."

Damn Raven and her ability to tell changes in people's intonations and cadences of speech. All part of her mutation, a very unnerving, and frequently embarrassing part.

"Only a little," He tried to soothe her, then repeated himself, "Who were those people?"

Raven let out a little huff, "Do you know an Agent MacTaggert?"

Charles straightened, careful to keep his voice low in the silence of the bar. "Moira? What is she doing there?"

"She told me this funny story about how you supposedly killed five people and ran off with some guy to do a weird Bonnie and Clyde tour of Europe." Somehow she said this in the perfect deadpan which made Charles slump again. How did the information get over there so quickly, it was insane. At least now he wouldn't have to explain this from the start. "I told them the idea of you killing someone is absolutely ridiculous."

Charles must have made some sound that gave him away to her because she stopped in whatever it was and honed in on it.

"Charles... please tell me this isn't true."

He scoffed at the idea, " _No_ I didn't harm anyone. I wouldn't..."

"But?" She drug out the word.

He shrugged even though she couldn't see it, she probably knew his mannerisms enough by now that she would intuit it, "There might be a grain of truth in that summation."

"Oh _really_ , Charles, did you run off with some man? I want you to get out there socially but now is not the time." She sounded quite like she'd slapped herself on the head but the last half was a joke, a defense mechanism they had in common.

"He's not just 'some man'," Charles shot back defensively, catching Raven and himself off guard. He knew the statement was true, without the shade of a doubt... but how in the world was he supposed to explain that to his sister. To explain what he'd seen, if he even had the right to tell Erik's story, which would then lead then to just an hour ago... _That_ he most definitely did not want to explain to his little sister.

Then again, there was one obvious thing she could understand...

"Raven, he's like _us_."

She fell completely silent, not for lack of trying to speak. Charles could hear the subtle starts of words, never fully formed, stoppered with delaying breaths. He knew how she felt. They both knew there must be more of them out there, more mutants, and even worse, more people who knew about them without the best intentions for them. It was very difficult to look for the former without running into the latter, no matter how much they want to.

"Just because he's one of us doesn't mean he's on our side..." Raven said softly, finally deciding on something to say.

"I know..." Charles said direly, thinking back on the cold, familiar clutch of a telepath on that train. He hadn't seen her, but she was there, and she did not wish them well. "But Erik... he doesn't realize what he is. All he knows is there's someone after him. I couldn't leave him alone in this."

She sighed, "You looked, didn't you."

She wasn't asking, and Charles didn't feel like lying, "Yes. It's hard not to. There's something about his mind, Raven, it just pulls me in." He'd almost gotten lost in it today, but he left that part off. How he'd been so, so close to sinking past the point of no return, into that dark thunder that crackled at the bottom of his mind. Worse yet, that he'd been too distracted by their current activity to even give a damn, the desperation and lust feeding back through at impossible speeds, wiping away everything else. Telling him to sleep was bad enough, but at least the guilt of it forced Charles away, kept him from accidentally influencing the other man's thoughts, negligently changing the small portion of himself that Erik had anymore.

"What are you going to do?" Raven asked timidly.

 _'I don't know...'_ he thought, but that wasn't a good answer, "The current plan is to head to the embassy in Switzerland. I'll fight the charges from there." He gave her an encouraging laugh, "Don't worry, we've handled worse, have we not?"

Raven's laugh rumbled back, unconvinced, "What about MacTaggert, can I trust her?"

' _Maybe_.' "Probably, yes..." He edged, suddenly worried about the question, "Raven, you don't have to do anything. I can handle this."

"Pff." Was the only answer he received.

Charles rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple, "... Raven."

"Don't worry. I won't put myself in danger," She said unconvincingly, "Oh! And don't think you've gotten away with the whole secret contact with the CIA thing. When you're home and safe, we're going to have a talk."

"I look forward to it." He said genuinely, amused at the tone her voice had taken. Her imitation of him had improved. As soon as the gutsiness invaded her tone, it slipped back away again, leaving her with something softer, more fond.

"Charles, be careful," She whispered, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He practically melted at that, sinking in around himself, "I love you too, Raven."

XVI.

Erik dreamed of salt water.

Masses of it, roiling together in an unholy union. An inky unfathomable darkness stretched out below him, deceptively solitary even though you knew it was teaming with life. Creatures who were not pleased with your existence, who might sneak up beneath your feet, seeking to drag you down, to eliminate the arrogant man threatening their home.

The world above the ink wasn't any more kind. Above, there was no doubt of your loneliness. It was simply you and pieces of buoyant wreckage that did you not favors. All wood and cork, anything heavier, radios, weapons, metal, all sank so quickly to the bottom to never be seen again. The skies were clear and the moon bright, but that wasn't a comfort, it was simply a way for the world to let you see, beyond doubt, that no one was coming. It was just you and the white blades of waves, cutting in over you just as you attempt to breathe, wearing you down moment by moment, numbing nerves, stealing warmth.

Erik let go. It was all an inevitability anyway. He sank under the surface, unnaturally leaden like the sea itself was pulling him down. Like he belonged there. Down at the bottom with the wreckage and the monsters. It seemed right, he thought, eyes drifting closed against the bitter sting... then he felt something wind around him. His descent halted. He opened his eyes again to feel arms around him, the refracted, choppy image of the moon stealing closer and closer. His hand broke the surface first, wind chilling his bare fingers.

Erik snapped awake. Eyes opening to find a surprised Charles in front of him, the other man's hand hovering close to his cheek.

"Sorry," Charles blurted out, eyelids fluttering nervously, "You were just..." He stopped and instead just melted into a look of saccharine sympathy. "Are you alright?"

Erik frowned at him, sitting up to survey his surroundings, trying to sort out why the other man was so worried. He didn't find the answer to that question, but he did find a few more.

"I slept..." He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there it was. He was in a bed, shoes still on with only an errant blanket half covering him, but he had obviously been asleep.

The dip of the bed springs drew Erik's attention over to Charles. He'd sat down on the edge of the bed, hesitant. Erik had slept, but Charles very obviously hadn't. As a matter of fact he looked quite miserable.

"I'm not surprised you did," Charles commented, tired smile sneaking into its usual place, "I don't think I've seen you sleep for days, you must have been desperate for it."

Erik stared at the floral bedspread, feeling warm and rested where he sat, an insane urge to laugh fraying the edges. "That's just it," He said, turning back to Charles "I _haven't_ slept. Not more than a few hours this whole week..."

Charles, apparently in an effort to confuse him this morning, seemed to uncoil at the words. The tiredness in his face easing away, smile brightening. He stood up from the bed, fingers tugging at his cuffs to set them back in order, "Good. I was starting to worry for you, Erik. I brought up some breakfast, I didn't know what you liked but I suppose you might not know either, so I got one of everything." He gestured at the table where a new tray was sitting, assorted pastries and breads stacked together in the middle.

It took Erik that long to remember the previous night.

Charles _knew._ He had sat him down the night before, explained everything. It hadn't gone well at first, but then... Erik cast a look around the room, catching on a forgotten glass still on the nightstand, just enough liquid in it to identify the amber color. The rest welled up easily after that, wholly and vividly, stopping him before he managed to get up.

"Last night..." Erik looked over at the other man, noting that he seemed to wrestling with himself over whether he should look at Erik or a spot on the floor.

Erik floundered. His memory of it, while vivid, wasn't really detailed past the rush of … everything that experience had drawn out of him. He couldn't remember who started it or how it happened or even what they'd been talking about before. What he could remember, was who stopped it. He stood up, taking a few questioning steps toward where Charles was standing.

Charles stood his ground but there was a tense edge about him. Erik kept his movements slow, measured, like he was trying to catch a bird with his hands.

"Last night," He said again, "I think I overstepped-"

"No." Charles said solidly and suddenly, making Erik pause again. He was only a few steps away now, and Charles let out a deep sigh and closed that distance further. His hand came up, hovering between them without explanation. They stared at it like it was a third party, waiting for it to act and eventually, it did, closing the rest of the distance to settle warm in the middle of Erik's chest. Erik kept carefully still, worried even now that Charles might startle away. For the moment, the smaller man was simply staring at his own hand intently, like he could make it pass through the layer of cloth to the skin underneath.

"It wasn't you." Charles said quietly, eyes looking up to catch Erik's, "You did _nothing_ wrong." Whatever comfort he received from that it quickly didn't matter because the hand dropped and Charles turned away, back to gather the few things either had with them.

Frustrated, Erik did the same, turning his attention to the table. The reichmark gleamed up at him tauntingly. Clumsily, arms still weighed down by sleep and frustration, he lashed out to grab it. At first he thought he missed it entirely, fingers dashing across the empty wooden tabletop but then suddenly the coin was there. He didn't spare it a second thought, tucking it into his pocket with a bitter snort.

It was an insignificant action, one he would have forgotten completely if he didn't look up and notice the wide eyed look Charles had fixed on him.

"What?" He asked blandly, not in the mood to be tugged around emotionally.

For a moment, Charles just stared between the spot on the table and Erik, no explanation, no obvious emotion, just... open eyed concentration. Then, with a stutter of indecision, the expression disappeared.

"It's nothing," Charles said, trying on a reassuring smile, "Now, come on, Geneva is waiting."

XVII.

"What are your plans from here?" Charles asked from his spot against a whitewashed wall, watching Erik comb through the beaten up truck to make sure there wasn't any evidence of who had stolen it. The thing has served them well thus far, but now they were in Geneva, the farmer motif made them very much a sore thumb.

Erik didn't even look up from his work, swiping a cloth over every surface that could hold a fingerprint, "I'm going to find out who I am."

Charles shuffled to his other foot, nodding idly at Erik's answer. It was the one he was expecting anyway. The sun was setting at the end of the street, turning Lake Geneva orange. He barely noticed. He'd barely noticed anything that day. He was in Geneva, the physical intersection of science and diplomacy, he should be tripping over himself at the mere sight of it, but his mind just didn't have the space. There were far other important things to be thinking about and so, so little time.

That morning, tucked among all the other distractions, was a tiny event. So tiny that, if he hadn't of turned around the minute he did, he would have missed it.

Erik had reached for that coin and it _moved_. All on its own. Just an inch, just close enough so Erik could pick it up, but it had. Of course Charles had thought Erik was a mutant all this time, he just didn't have proof. He hadn't seemed to display any of this so far and Charles had started to think maybe, maybe he was wanted wrongly, that he was just human.

But now that he thought back... Erik had sat in the middle of gunfire with virtually no cover for a good solid minute and had walked out with only a shallow scratch. When Charles had inspected the train engine later, the trajectories of the bullets didn't seem to follow any laws of physics he'd ever heard of. Some of the bullets would have to hit a radical curve to land the places they did. That seemed... unlikely.

Now, with the idea that it might not be the fault of physics and more just... Erik, things made more sense. It did present more problems though. Now, more than ever, it was important to tell Erik who and what he was. What he was capable of and why those people were after him. Charles couldn't, in good conscience, let him leave without that much...

"Do you have to?" Charles asked, quiet and careful to make it sound nothing like a plea.

Erik did look up at that, frowning openly like the question was ridiculous. "What do you mean?"

Charles titled his head a smidge sarcastically. Erik knew perfectly well what he meant.

"I have to." Erik slammed the door a little louder than necessary. The cloth was ditched in a similar aggressive fashion as he rounded the cab, back over to Charles. "There is someone out there who took everything from me. I cannot let that go."

His anger didn't bother Charles. It was amazing that, over the few short days of knowing him, how he could so easily tell the differences between the many different shades of anger Erik showed. This particular brand wasn't aimed at Charles but at that nebulous something that had caused him so much harm.

Charles reached out and ran a hand down the arm of Erik's jacket, suddenly glad for the divider of his gloves. He didn't know if he could resist just reaching up and soothing away some of this if he didn't have them on. Erik leaned into the contact almost imperceptibly, the movement so subtle Charles doubted even he knew that he'd done it.

It had been like this all day, the previous night shaking something out between them neither could name. It wasn't the easy comfort of two days previous, it was something tense and a little bit desperate, but it tied them together so much more securely. Erik was obviously terrified of it. Charles wasn't far off.

"Is getting a fresh start so terrible?" Charles said softly.

"If it were only that." Erik's anger faded to a mild exasperation at his oh so obviously naïve friend, "Where would I go anyway?"

Charles rolled a shoulder in a shrug, "You could come home with me, I have room."

The invitation hung in the air a little heavier than Charles had intended it. Erik rocked back half a step, face lapsing into that middle ground of indecision that Charles didn't have near as much experience in interpreting. Thankfully it was quickly gone.

Erik wavered then abruptly let out a huffed laugh, "With what passport?" He tilted his head in the direction down the street where they needed to go. Charles followed without any more guidance, glad for the way to hide the sigh of relief.

He waved his hand, "I don't have one right now either, it was in my bag on the train, but those sorts of things can be sorted out. You have money, don't you?"

"Charles, are you suggesting we _bribe_ someone?" Erik admonished, sarcasm thick.

The main street had a bit of decline, pouring traffic down into the city center. They picked across it carefully, heading toward another side street so they could keep wide of the few other people out in the evening. It all felt strangely natural. Charles shrugged again, tossing a smile across, "For our own safety, yes, yes I would."

"What about your sister," Erik said, obviously a little amused, "How would she feel about you bringing a strange man home?"

Right now, Charles wasn't quite sure, but he wisely didn't say that much, enjoying the lighter mood for what it was, "Please. You two would get along famously."

"I think you overestimate me. I don't get along well with people."

Charles gave him an affronted look, "What am I, then? We seem to be doing well, I think."

"Yes, but I don't think you're entirely sane. Anyone else would have run off by now" Erik countered, earning himself a bright laugh from Charles.

"That's not fair," He shot back, "You got on with Bailey as well."

He could blame it on lack of sleep, the tempo of the conversation, or just pure distraction, but Charles knew he second he said it that he'd made a huge mistake. Erik stopped two paces behind him, the amiable air evaporating into nothing in just a breath. It took Charles a moment to turn around, trying to make it seem as natural as he could. He was always a bad liar.

"I never told you that name." Erik asked darkly, hands tight at his sides.

The distance between them was only a few steps but suddenly it felt like something of utter importance. That distance needed to be maintained or things would go badly, very, very quickly.

Bailey was the name of the ex-medic fisherman who had kept Erik alive, a gruff, unapologetic old man with no patience for Erik's temper. They'd gotten along as well as two people with similar personalities could, with a biting respect and trust born out of letting someone sew you back together. Charles knew all this. The problem was that, Erik was right, he had never told him about it. Charles had gleaned it from the night previous. Completely on accident. The memory stuck so well and the alcohol fuzzed where exactly he'd heard it from, Charles hadn't even considered to stop and think about the origin of it until it was too late.

Charles opened his mouth, about to attempt to deny it, but suddenly the distance between them was gone, Erik towering over him once more, like the first time they met.

"Do not lie to me, Charles." Erik warned, it was a courtesy, "How do you know that?"

Every warm easily damaged part of his mind was stored away, the memories of the last few days as well. He couldn't think about any of them right then. They wouldn't help him, instead he concentrated on shoring up every bit of his considerable stubborn qualities, his bravery and morals strengthening him. He stood unmoved, unbowed by Erik's pressure.

"I talked to owner of that hotel this morning," Erik nearly growled that time, "She told me you made a call last night, I ignored it before but now ... now I wonder. You know things you shouldn't, making calls after I suddenly fall asleep with no remembrance of how it happened. Come to think of it, those men on the train made themselves scarce a little too easily..."

" _Stop_." Charles ordered shortly, he had to before Erik drowned the conversation out in assumptions. Surprisingly, Erik obeyed, but only just.

"I will not lie to you." Charles started, "but know that you're not going to like what I am about to say and it will make little sense at first."

Maybe this was for the best. A clean break and a way to fully express to Erik what he was dealing with. Mutations and all that it brought with it. He could see without the aid of his powers what Erik was thinking. That this was all some elaborate trap. That of course there wasn't someone out there who would be this accommodating. How it was all so very coincidental. How Charles must be in on this, whatever this is, that he _had_ to find out, no matter the methods...

"My thesis I was describing, the hypothesis that one day there might be large leaps in evolution," Charles braced even though he was projecting utter confidence. This part never went down well, "It's true. I wrote that thesis because I _am_ one of those leaps...

"I know these things because I read your mind."


	7. Emergency Exit

XVIII.

Charles hadn't been aware he was standing so close to a wall until it rushed up to meet his back, breath stealing out his lungs at the impact. The motion caught him completely off guard, he only had concentration enough to focus on the priorities, remembering how to breathe, keeping himself upright, and only then figuring out how it happened.

"That," Erik's laugh was a shade hysterical, calling Charles's attention back up to him, "That is the best you could do." The taller man's hand was knotted in Charles's coat.

"Erik, please."

"What kind of game is this to you?" Erik shook him shortly, looming dangerously over him, absolutely livid now. "I've been kind to you this far so I do not think you fully understand what you're playing with."

"I am _not_ lying." Charles bit out around a cough, trying to twist out of Erik's grip only to be tugged back roughly in place against the wall. It didn't deter him, "I'm a mutant. I can read minds, I can do things the majority of people can't, but I am not the only one."

The sound of disgust in the back of Erik's throat was plain and the fabric of Charles's coat dragged tighter, but he didn't say a word past that. Charles pounced on the silence, taking advantage wherever he found it.

" _Think_ , Erik," He urged, "Five people saw us murder those men, clear as day. It seems impossible doesn't it? It was that woman on the train, she reached into their heads and made them see what she wanted them to. Did you see those men firing at you, the engineer, did the seem like they were remotely under their own power? I do not know what she's after but she's using her powers in terrible ways, I couldn't let you face that alone. That woman is like me, and _so are you_."

A chill covered the side street that had nothing to do with temperature. Quietly, completely calm, Erik removed his hands from Charles's jacket, the fabric coming away in thick creases that he made a detached attempt at straightening out. Erik made no move to put more distance between them, in fact he leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of Charles with the cold scrape of skin on brick. Then he simply stared, expression the definition of placid.

It was the first time Charles had been truly worried for his safety.

"Please," Erik said slowly, voice dark and sarcastic, "Explain to me how I'm like _you_."

Charles thought idly that this must be exactly what knowingly sticking your hand into a bear trap felt like.

"You're can do something different," Charles nearly whispered it, anything louder seemed like it would set him off, "I don't know exactly, but things move for you. The bullets on the train going in impossible directions, the coupling. I saw it just before we left, it didn't disengage, it _shattered_. you're probably doing it without even realizing, it's such an innate part of people like us..."

It was faint, truly so, but behind Erik's shadowed eyes, there was a hint of recognition. Charles dared to hope for a moment but it didn't last. Whatever understanding there had been, it was now completely overwhelmed with anger.

"Let's pretend I believe you." Despite the rage in his eyes his voice was completely even, "You say you are like this woman, that you can read minds, change them..."

Charles pressed his eyes closed, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Did you ever do that to me?" Charles's wince probably told Erik everything he wanted to know, but he didn't seem content with that, "No lying, Charles."

"...Yes, but never to harm you, never-"

Any intent on explaining himself was shocked away by Erik's abrupt shove off the wall, the displaced air pinning him better than any hand. Charles practically plastered himself to it all on his own.

Erik had started pacing up and down the deserted side street. No, Charles remembered, Erik didn't pace, he prowled.

"Even if I ignore the fact that you might be completely insane," Erik said sharply, "You realize there isn't any way I could trust you anymore. How do I know you're not just making me see all these things, that this isn't something driven by you alone? Perhaps you just got _bored_ and wanted someone to play with."

Charles let his head tip back against the wall, happy for the grit of it against his scalp. The sky had turned black above them, dimmed out by the city's lights. He'd heard the words. Not just now, but time time again. Out loud, in other's heads, in his own. All worded differently but essentially the same.

No one could trust themselves around him. Every thought, every feeling would be suspect. How were you supposed to know, for sure, that the world is what you saw when you were around someone who had to do no more than to mildly concentrate on you to change it. How is it possible not to be afraid of that?

People always figured it out eventually, and this was inevitably their reaction. No exceptions, even Raven.

Charles couldn't blame them.

He drug together all the pieces of his pride and stood tall, confident and contrite all at the same time.

"Those people are after you for your abilities Erik, I read it on their minds, but you're aware of that now. I've accomplished what I wanted to." Charles said evenly, "I won't bother you any further."

The taller man stilled at that. For some reason, beyond anything else, beyond realizing that he'd been lied to and possibly manipulated. Those words angered him...

Every light in every room on the block simultaneously shattered, studding the street in sparks for a bare, dangerously beautiful moment, and then Geneva fell into darkness.

When Charles looked back up Erik was gone.

XIX.

Raven bided her time carefully, considering her options as she had been all night. Moira and company had set up shop in the room across the hall, simply lacking for a more permanent place to be, and wanting to be close by in case Charles made contact like Moira was so sure he would.

She wasn't wrong, of course, but Raven hadn't told them about the call the night before, not until now, at least.

"He called you?" Moira said in disbelief, her pen hanging over the yellow tablet she'd been scribbling notes on. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Raven made an attempt at looking bashful but it came off more annoyed. She shrugged to lessen the blow, eyes darting off to the side, "Hey, it's not every day this happens to me, I'm not good at it, okay? I'm telling you now."

Moira sighed, dropping her pen onto the table with a snap, "It's alright... time is just important, you understand? What did he say?"

"That he didn't do it," Raven crossed her arms, annoyed she had to say it at all. She left out the part about the mutants and Charles's new "friend" and got right to the important part, with a little bit of a lie twisted in, "and that he was heading to the embassy in Paris."

Moira straightened like someone had shot lightning down her spine. Raven stared, confused.

"What, is that bad? He was a little drunk..."

A laugh shook out of the older woman but she waved the comment away, twisting around to grab the ivory and brass phone from the desk, "No, no, this is good, we can work with this. Thank you, Raven, I'll make a few phone calls and make sure he's treated well when he gets there."

"Good." Raven said uselessly, shuffling on her feet until she ineptly made her way out the door, the picture of a non-threat. However, the minute the door was closed behind her, the nervousness drained from her, her posture straightening, scared face turning to something much more resolute. She took in a big breath and started counting to sixty.

_One Mississippi. Two Mississippi..._

A few minutes before she talked to Moira, Raven had changed herself into the intern's shape and sent him off to the post office, after some package that needed his signature. It was inane, but Levine was obviously tired and completely disbelieving that there was such a thing as a shape shifter, and he did as was asked. He wouldn't be back for a while.

_Fifty-nine Mississippi. Sixty Mississippi._

That familiar comforting hum of her scales washing up over her body turned her into the drab impression of a man that was Agent Levine. Then, proudly, if tiredly, she stepped through the door.

"-I don't. No, no sir, I wasn't trying to..."

Moira's voice was even, completely contrasting the look of utter panic on her face. She caught "Levine" from the corner of her eye and waved him over with short frantic motions, pointing over at the other phone in the bedroom. Raven put on her best confused Levine face, which wasn't hard, and obeyed the pantomimed directions. She couldn't believe her luck, she was initially planning on sneaking into the other room to listen in on the call.

She lifted the device as quietly as she could from its cradle, as if it would muffle the distinctive click that sounded when you were being listened into. It seemed that the man on the other end of the line was too busy talking to notice it or it only sounded on Moira's line, but it was another stroke of luck.

"We simply have no jurisdiction in the area and if we did, we wouldn't do anything, the proof is damning, Moira. How are you even in on this case anyway?" Some man with a booming, craggy old voice spoke on the other side of the line. Peeved might be a good word to describe him.

"I checked sir, the witnesses can no longer be found. They made their statements and disappeared. Doesn't that sound weird to you, sir?" Moira pressed, fingernails tapping on the desk loud enough Raven could hear it from the bedroom.

"Weird or not, MacTaggert, this is _not_ your case. If that boy shows up at the Embassy in Paris, or any other Embassy for that matter, he will be immediately given over to the authorities. Is that clear?"

Moira strangled down whatever word it was she had been wanting to say, but it was obviously an effort. She allowed herself a breath, then tried again, "...yes, sir."

"I don't want to hear another word about it. Goodbye Agent MacTaggert."

Raven dropped the phone back into the cradle and clamped down on her shuddering disguise. There really was only one word for situations like this.

"Fuck!"

XX

The embassy was a large building comprised of stone and glass. During the day, the combination would have been quite appealing, but now it was only a tall brooding square of black night reflecting back out on him. The only thing granting it a little life were a small string of orange leading up to a helpful sign, pointing Charles to a side entrance for after-hours emergencies.

He'd followed the light obediently and found the door. Surprisingly, it wasn't locked, simply letting him into a lobby so cavernous there was a balcony hanging over one side. The place echoed terribly, his own footsteps reverberating impossibly back to him as he made his way to the long line of desks spread along one side. Only one desk was still lit where a sleepy night receptionist sat waiting, watching him approach with a frown.

Before Charles could reach her, a security guard parted from the wall and stepped between them.

"Can I help you?" The poor man looked as tired as the receptionist, staring out at him through bleary eyes.

Charles let out a sigh, reaching out to the man, "God, I hope so."

He didn't know whether it was the stress of the situation or the previous prolonged contact with Erik, but Charles's control on his telepathy was shot. All it took was a brush of a finger on the man's hand and his mind just opened up...

...and all Charles found was cold.

Before he was even fully conscious of his decision to run, he was doing it. Charles wheeled around and dashed back towards the door, ducking when he felt the scrape of the security guard's hand snagging on the back of his collar. He didn't look back, he didn't have to, instead he identified the situation through sound. Two other pair of footsteps had joined the first, amplified by their echo. A pair of flat shoes like the guards and, amazingly, a set of high heels belonging to the receptionist. Charles tossed a look over his shoulder for that, confused, and found her crawling precariously over her own desk to chase after him as well, losing a shoe as she did.

He didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before then. The cold was practically bleeding off of them. The same cold as back on the train. These people were being controlled by the other telepath.

Charles hit the door with his entire body, rattling the frame with the impact but even with his full weight slammed against the bar, the door didn't unlatch. It had locked behind him.

They had known he was coming...

He took a moment to gauge his surroundings, looking for another exit, placing where his pursuers. The first one wasn't far off, running seemed to be a difficult thing for the other telepath to coordinate but they were making a brisk jog fairly well. The secretary wasn't far behind the first guard, walking awkwardly up on one toe. The third security guard was further back, having come out of a side room.

Charles took one more look out the door to the freedom beyond, gauging the glass's thickness. He didn't think he could break through it and he didn't want to waste time trying. He ducked left, hitting a dead run towards the desks. The tops were shadowed with a wall of glass to divide the lobby from the office area. Small windows dotting the side for the person to speak through. Charles decided he was going to give them an auxiliary purpose and scrambled up onto the desk, skidding through the window as fast as he could, scattering everything on the desk and snagging on the chair waiting on the other side.

The office was a maze of cubicles and desks, only minimal lit, the glow barely enough to illuminate the hunched shapes of covered typewriters on the desks, let alone the layout. Charles picked a random direction and ran, ducking running into furniture at the last second on various occasions until he found an obvious path.

The path lead between the desks turned into a hallway lined with locked offices, Charles rattled each and every one without success. He was rethinking the window approach, now that he had some space between him and his followers. He could probably bust it open and get as far from there as possible. He could sort this out later.

No such luck, however. The hallway was windowless and only lead to a staircase winding up and back around to the expansive balcony overlooking the lobby. It was so large it held another six important looking offices, all guarded by more frosted glass walls and locked doors. There was a staircase on the other side and Charles moved towards it.

A sudden cluster of thumps drew Charles's attention back down below. All three of the people had stopped in their tracks and dropped, completely boneless. Unconscious or dead, Charles didn't know, but he couldn't help them.

That was right when he noticed the arms sweeping in from his peripheral vision.

He couldn't stop the yell that escaped him, after all, it was the only option left to him at that moment. He could either succumb to whoever it was or launch headfirst off the balcony to the lobby below. One arm wrapped around his hips, the other catching uncomfortably under his chin, sleeves protecting whoever it was from Charles getting to them even if they didn't know it.

"Stop struggling, we won't hurt you unless you make us." A female voice said behind him, but it wasn't he person holding him.

Petulantly, Charles thrashed one more time, knocking an elbow sharply into his attacker's side. It was a small consolation to hear the surprised wheeze from whoever it was, but then he was being yanked up onto his toes by his neck, the arm neatly pinching off the blood flow.

The world overlayed with white sparks, beautiful and sharp. The background started fading into black around the edges like the embassy building was making some attempt at becoming the night sky.

"You can let go now, Riptide." The woman said plainly, bored.

The man obeyed and Charles sank to the ground like the woman's puppets in the floor below, heart beating wildly against his ribcage. He only just managed to stop himself from falling straight to his face by catching himself on his forearms, but the effort expended all of his energy left to him at the moment. It would come back, but it was so slow.

"Where is your keeper, telepath?" The woman asked. Charles was considering taking a page from Raven's book and flipping her off. It would be satisfying, if not necessarily prudent.

"Keeper?" Charles coughed as soon as he tried to talk, pushing himself so he could sit. He made half an attempt to stand but the man, Riptide, gave him a warning look and a shake of a finger.

"It doesn't matter, if he was here he would have attacked by now. Did you escape from him or..." The woman paced forward, the sway of her hips fanning her white coat out behind her in a flattering fashion. She made an attempt at a smile but it was jagged and sharp, an imitation by someone who had never felt it herself, "Or maybe he escaped from you? Don't worry, you don't have to speak. I will find out."

She stood over him, smug as she could manage...

Every muscle in Charles's body tensed when he felt the cold edge into his mind. It was mostly reflex when he sank his consciousness into it, gouging holes into the icy wave, and shot it back into her face. The woman let out a startled scream, staggering back half a step. Charles pressed the advantage and launched forward, latching a hand securely around her bared ankle.

Her mind was not a pleasant place to be. He could have guessed that much, his guess would have also been wholly inadequate. Her mind was cold as the arctic and soft as a bed of upturned razorblades, layered with so many shields it was nearly an impossible task... or it would have been for anyone else. Charles almost laughed when he figured it out.

He was _stronger than her_.

It was an alarmingly giddy realization he would probably worry about later, but for that moment he was only dedicated to giving himself the best chance of survival he could muster and it was through this woman. Emma. That was her name.

A sharp pain to his temple knocked his connection free from Emma's mind, he world was pitch black in his eyes, even though he could feel the sensation of falling, impacting with what must have been the floor. He blinked sightlessly before the black faded away into those familiar white sparks. Charles huffed against the tile floor, disturbing a few particles of dirt while he tried to reacquaint himself with gravity. It only occurred to him that he had been kicked in the head when a few drops of blood slid off his temple to the tile.

Charles worked his hands underneath him feebly, but then the wind started, sudden and unnaturally strong. Unmistakeably a warning. So instead, Charles tipped himself over to lay on one side to see the other two mutants not far away. Small tornadoes were wrapped around the man's hands, Emma looking positively out of sorts behind him. She'd managed to keep her feet, but her hands were curved into claws, her face pinched with the occasional wince. Unfortunately, it was lessening, she was getting herself back under control.

"You..." She said ominously, "You should not be this strong, not when you're limited to your skin." Understanding hit her, and she stepped towards Charles again, this time not close enough for him to reach, "Oh. Now, what did you do to yourself?"

Charles had every intention of answering her, but the world had taken on an unnatural fuzz to match the wind. The building _screamed_. It was a sound both high and low pitched, reverberating deep into your bones. Like a set of dominoes, every frosted glass wall shattered into a million pieces.

Then the ceiling just collapsed.

Right on top of Emma and Riptide.

Charles tucked his knees to himself as best as he could, burying his face into his own sleeve, hiding from he avalanche of choking dust blanketing the balcony. It was pure instinct, nothing more, and his brain seemed to have the idea that it wasn't needed any longer, forcing Charles's eyes closed, stuffing cotton in his ears, and numbing his nerves.

It was only dimly that he felt the sensation of being picked up, dimly that he thought he should fight back... but then, a casual brush of skin, and Charles relaxed into the hold, falling quickly and soundly unconscious. At peace.


End file.
